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Page 17
"That's not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.
"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has
already asked me to come and see her."
"I don't want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you
to come for me." And this was the only allusion that the young
man was ever to hear her make to his invidious kinswoman.
He declared that, at any rate, he would certainly come.
After this Daisy stopped teasing. Winterbourne took a carriage,
and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl
was very quiet.
In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent
the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.
"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.
"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."
"She went with you all alone?"
"All alone."
Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.
"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted
me to know!"
PART II
Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day after his
excursion to Chillon, went to Rome toward the end of January.
His aunt had been established there for several weeks,
and he had received a couple of letters from her.
"Those people you were so devoted to last summer at Vevey
have turned up here, courier and all," she wrote.
"They seem to have made several acquaintances, but the courier
continues to be the most intime. The young lady, however,
is also very intimate with some third-rate Italians,
with whom she rackets about in a way that makes much talk.
Bring me that pretty novel of Cherbuliez's--Paule Mere--
and don't come later than the 23rd."
In the natural course of events, Winterbourne, on arriving in Rome,
would presently have ascertained Mrs. Miller's address at the American
banker's and have gone to pay his compliments to Miss Daisy.
"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"
he said to Mrs. Costello.
"If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep up
the acquaintance, you are very welcome. Of course a man may know everyone.
Men are welcome to the privilege!"
"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.
"The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what
happens further, you must apply elsewhere for information.
She has picked up half a dozen of the regular Roman
fortune hunters, and she takes them about to people's houses.
When she comes to a party she brings with her a gentleman
with a good deal of manner and a wonderful mustache."
"And where is the mother?"
"I haven't the least idea. They are very dreadful people."
Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--
very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad."
"They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no being
hopelessly vulgar is being 'bad' is a question for the metaphysicians.
They are bad enough to dislike, at any rate; and for this short life
that is quite enough."
The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful
mustaches checked Winterbourne's impulse to go straightway to see her.
He had, perhaps, not definitely flattered himself that he had made
an ineffaceable impression upon her heart, but he was annoyed at hearing
of a state of affairs so little in harmony with an image that had lately
flitted in and out of his own meditations; the image of a very pretty
girl looking out of an old Roman window and asking herself urgently
when Mr. Winterbourne would arrive. If, however, he determined to wait
a little before reminding Miss Miller of his claims to her consideration,
he went very soon to call upon two or three other friends.
One of these friends was an American lady who had spent several
winters at Geneva, where she had placed her children at school.
She was a very accomplished woman, and she lived in the Via Gregoriana.
Winterbourne found her in a little crimson drawing room on a third floor;
the room was filled with southern sunshine. He had not been there ten minutes
when the servant came in, announcing "Madame Mila!" This announcement
was presently followed by the entrance of little Randolph Miller,
who stopped in the middle of the room and stood staring at Winterbourne.
An instant later his pretty sister crossed the threshold; and then,
after a considerable interval, Mrs. Miller slowly advanced.
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