Daisy Miller | Page 6

she said.
"She don't like to ride round in the afternoon. But did you really mean
what you said just now--that you would like to go up there?"

"Most earnestly," Winterbourne declared.
"Then we may arrange it. If mother will stay with Randolph, I guess
Eugenio will."
"Eugenio?" the young man inquired.
"Eugenio's our courier. He doesn't like to stay with Randolph; he's the
most fastidious man I ever saw. But he's a splendid courier. I guess he'll
stay at home with Randolph if mother does, and then we can go to the
castle."
Winterbourne reflected for an instant as lucidly as possible-- "we"
could only mean Miss Daisy Miller and himself. This program seemed
almost too agreeable for credence; he felt as if he ought to kiss the
young lady's hand. Possibly he would have done so and quite spoiled
the project, but at this moment another person, presumably Eugenio,
appeared. A tall, handsome man, with superb whiskers, wearing a
velvet morning coat and a brilliant watch chain, approached Miss
Miller, looking sharply at her companion. "Oh, Eugenio!" said Miss
Miller with the friendliest accent.
Eugenio had looked at Winterbourne from head to foot; he now bowed
gravely to the young lady. "I have the honor to inform mademoiselle
that luncheon is upon the table."
Miss Miller slowly rose. "See here, Eugenio!" she said; "I'm going to
that old castle, anyway."
"To the Chateau de Chillon, mademoiselle?" the courier inquired.
"Mademoiselle has made arrangements?" he added in a tone which
struck Winterbourne as very impertinent.
Eugenio's tone apparently threw, even to Miss Miller's own
apprehension, a slightly ironical light upon the young girl's situation.
She turned to Winterbourne, blushing a little--a very little. "You won't
back out?" she said.

"I shall not be happy till we go!" he protested.
"And you are staying in this hotel?" she went on. "And you are really
an American?"
The courier stood looking at Winterbourne offensively. The young man,
at least, thought his manner of looking an offense to Miss Miller; it
conveyed an imputation that she "picked up" acquaintances. "I shall
have the honor of presenting to you a person who will tell you all about
me," he said, smiling and referring to his aunt.
"Oh, well, we'll go some day," said Miss Miller. And she gave him a
smile and turned away. She put up her parasol and walked back to the
inn beside Eugenio. Winterbourne stood looking after her; and as she
moved away, drawing her muslin furbelows over the gravel, said to
himself that she had the tournure of a princess.
He had, however, engaged to do more than proved feasible, in
promising to present his aunt, Mrs. Costello, to Miss Daisy Miller. As
soon as the former lady had got better of her headache, he waited upon
her in her apartment; and, after the proper inquiries in regard to her
health, he asked her if she had observed in the hotel an American
family--a mamma, a daughter, and a little boy.
"And a courier?" said Mrs. Costello. "Oh yes, I have observed them.
Seen them--heard them--and kept out of their way." Mrs. Costello was
a widow with a fortune; a person of much distinction, who frequently
intimated that, if she were not so dreadfully liable to sick headaches,
she would probably have left a deeper impress upon her time. She had a
long, pale face, a high nose, and a great deal of very striking white hair,
which she wore in large puffs and rouleaux over the top of her head.
She had two sons married in New York and another who was now in
Europe. This young man was amusing himself at Hamburg, and,
though he was on his travels, was rarely perceived to visit any
particular city at the moment selected by his mother for her own
appearance there. Her nephew, who had come up to Vevey expressly to
see her, was therefore more attentive than those who, as she said, were
nearer to her. He had imbibed at Geneva the idea that one must always

be attentive to one's aunt. Mrs. Costello had not seen him for many
years, and she was greatly pleased with him, manifesting her
approbation by initiating him into many of the secrets of that social
sway which, as she gave him to understand, she exerted in the
American capital. She admitted that she was very exclusive; but, if he
were acquainted with New York, he would see that one had to be. And
her picture of the minutely hierarchical constitution of the society of
that city, which she presented to him in many different lights, was, to
Winterbourne's imagination, almost oppressively striking.
He immediately perceived, from her tone, that Miss Daisy Miller's
place in the social scale was low. "I am afraid you