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Page 27
"That was very cruel," he said to Mrs. Walker.
"She never enters my drawing room again!" replied his hostess.
Since Winterbourne was not to meet her in Mrs. Walker's drawing room,
he went as often as possible to Mrs. Miller's hotel. The ladies
were rarely at home, but when he found them, the devoted Giovanelli
was always present. Very often the brilliant little Roman was in the
drawing room with Daisy alone, Mrs. Miller being apparently constantly
of the opinion that discretion is the better part of surveillance.
Winterbourne noted, at first with surprise, that Daisy on these
occasions was never embarrassed or annoyed by his own entrance;
but he very presently began to feel that she had no more surprises for him;
the unexpected in her behavior was the only thing to expect. She showed
no displeasure at her tete-a-tete with Giovanelli being interrupted;
she could chatter as freshly and freely with two gentlemen as with one;
there was always, in her conversation, the same odd mixture of audacity
and puerility. Winterbourne remarked to himself that if she was
seriously interested in Giovanelli, it was very singular that she should
not take more trouble to preserve the sanctity of their interviews;
and he liked her the more for her innocent-looking indifference
and her apparently inexhaustible good humor. He could hardly have
said why, but she seemed to him a girl who would never be jealous.
At the risk of exciting a somewhat derisive smile on the reader's part,
I may affirm that with regard to the women who had hitherto interested him,
it very often seemed to Winterbourne among the possibilities that, given
certain contingencies, he should be afraid--literally afraid--of these ladies;
he had a pleasant sense that he should never be afraid of Daisy Miller.
It must be added that this sentiment was not altogether flattering to Daisy;
it was part of his conviction, or rather of his apprehension, that she
would prove a very light young person.
But she was evidently very much interested in Giovanelli.
She looked at him whenever he spoke; she was perpetually telling him
to do this and to do that; she was constantly "chaffing" and abusing him.
She appeared completely to have forgotten that Winterbourne had said anything
to displease her at Mrs. Walker's little party. One Sunday afternoon,
having gone to St. Peter's with his aunt, Winterbourne perceived Daisy
strolling about the great church in company with the inevitable Giovanelli.
Presently he pointed out the young girl and her cavalier to Mrs. Costello.
This lady looked at them a moment through her eyeglass, and then she said:
"That's what makes you so pensive in these days, eh?"
"I had not the least idea I was pensive," said the young man.
"You are very much preoccupied; you are thinking of something."
"And what is it," he asked, "that you accuse me of thinking of?"
"Of that young lady's--Miss Baker's, Miss Chandler's--what's her name?--
Miss Miller's intrigue with that little barber's block."
"Do you call it an intrigue," Winterbourne asked--"an affair that goes
on with such peculiar publicity?"
"That's their folly," said Mrs. Costello; "it's not their merit."
"No," rejoined Winterbourne, with something of that pensiveness
to which his aunt had alluded. "I don't believe that there
is anything to be called an intrigue."
"I have heard a dozen people speak of it; they say she is quite carried
away by him."
"They are certainly very intimate," said Winterbourne.
Mrs. Costello inspected the young couple again with her optical instrument.
"He is very handsome. One easily sees how it is. She thinks
him the most elegant man in the world, the finest gentleman.
She has never seen anything like him; he is better, even, than the courier.
It was the courier probably who introduced him; and if he succeeds in marrying
the young lady, the courier will come in for a magnificent commission."
"I don't believe she thinks of marrying him," said Winterbourne,
"and I don't believe he hopes to marry her."
"You may be very sure she thinks of nothing. She goes on from
day to day, from hour to hour, as they did in the Golden Age.
I can imagine nothing more vulgar. And at the same time,"
added Mrs. Costello, "depend upon it that she may tell you
any moment that she is 'engaged.'"
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