|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 29
"Oh, it seems as if they couldn't live without each other!" said Mrs. Miller.
"Well, he's a real gentleman, anyhow. I keep telling Daisy she's engaged!"
"And what does Daisy say?"
"Oh, she says she isn't engaged. But she might as well be!"
this impartial parent resumed; "she goes on as if she was.
But I've made Mr. Giovanelli promise to tell me, if SHE doesn't.
I should want to write to Mr. Miller about it--shouldn't you?"
Winterbourne replied that he certainly should; and the state of mind
of Daisy's mamma struck him as so unprecedented in the annals of parental
vigilance that he gave up as utterly irrelevant the attempt to place
her upon her guard.
After this Daisy was never at home, and Winterbourne ceased to meet her
at the houses of their common acquaintances, because, as he perceived,
these shrewd people had quite made up their minds that she was going too far.
They ceased to invite her; and they intimated that they desired to
express to observant Europeans the great truth that, though Miss Daisy
Miller was a young American lady, her behavior was not representative--
was regarded by her compatriots as abnormal. Winterbourne wondered
how she felt about all the cold shoulders that were turned toward her,
and sometimes it annoyed him to suspect that she did not feel at all.
He said to himself that she was too light and childish, too uncultivated
and unreasoning, too provincial, to have reflected upon her ostracism,
or even to have perceived it. Then at other moments he believed that she
carried about in her elegant and irresponsible little organism a defiant,
passionate, perfectly observant consciousness of the impression she produced.
He asked himself whether Daisy's defiance came from the consciousness
of innocence, or from her being, essentially, a young person of the
reckless class. It must be admitted that holding one's self to a belief
in Daisy's "innocence" came to seem to Winterbourne more and more a matter
of fine-spun gallantry. As I have already had occasion to relate, he was
angry at finding himself reduced to chopping logic about this young lady;
he was vexed at his want of instinctive certitude as to how far her
eccentricities were generic, national, and how far they were personal.
From either view of them he had somehow missed her, and now it was too late.
She was "carried away" by Mr. Giovanelli.
A few days after his brief interview with her mother, he encountered
her in that beautiful abode of flowering desolation known as the
Palace of the Caesars. The early Roman spring had filled the air
with bloom and perfume, and the rugged surface of the Palatine
was muffled with tender verdure. Daisy was strolling along
the top of one of those great mounds of ruin that are embanked
with mossy marble and paved with monumental inscriptions.
It seemed to him that Rome had never been so lovely as just then.
He stood, looking off at the enchanting harmony of line and color
that remotely encircles the city, inhaling the softly humid odors,
and feeling the freshness of the year and the antiquity
of the place reaffirm themselves in mysterious interfusion.
It seemed to him also that Daisy had never looked so pretty,
but this had been an observation of his whenever he met her.
Giovanelli was at her side, and Giovanelli, too, wore an aspect
of even unwonted brilliancy.
"Well," said Daisy, "I should think you would be lonesome!"
"Lonesome?" asked Winterbourne.
"You are always going round by yourself. Can't you get anyone
to walk with you?"
"I am not so fortunate," said Winterbourne, "as your companion."
Giovanelli, from the first, had treated Winterbourne with
distinguished politeness. He listened with a deferential air
to his remarks; he laughed punctiliously at his pleasantries;
he seemed disposed to testify to his belief that Winterbourne
was a superior young man. He carried himself in no degree
like a jealous wooer; he had obviously a great deal of tact;
he had no objection to your expecting a little humility of him.
It even seemed to Winterbourne at times that Giovanelli would
find a certain mental relief in being able to have a private
understanding with him--to say to him, as an intelligent man,
that, bless you, HE knew how extraordinary was this
young lady, and didn't flatter himself with delusive--
or at least TOO delusive--hopes of matrimony and dollars.
On this occasion he strolled away from his companion to pluck
a sprig of almond blossom, which he carefully arranged
in his buttonhole.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|