Daisy Miller quotes

But on this point Randolph seemed perfectly indifferent; he continued to supply information with regard to his own family. “My father’s name is Ezra B. Miller,” he announced.

“My father ain’t in Europe; my father’s in a better place than Europe.”

Winterbourne imagined for a moment that this was the manner in which the child had been taught to intimate that Mr. Miller had been removed to the sphere of celestial reward. But Randolph immediately added, “My father’s in Schenectady. He’s got a big business.

and more young lady friends too,” she resumed in a moment. She paused again for an instant; she was looking at Winterbourne with all her prettiness in her lively eyes and in her light, slightly monotonous smile.

“I have always had,” she said, “a great deal of gentlemen’s society.”

Poor Winterbourne was amused, perplexed, and decidedly charmed. He had never yet heard a young girl express herself in just this fashion; never, at least, save in cases where to say such things seemed a kind of demonstrative evidence of a certain laxity of deportment.

But this young girl was not a coquette in that sense; she was very unsophisticated; she was only a pretty American flirt.

Winterbourne was almost grateful for having found the formula that applied to Miss Daisy Miller.

He leaned back in his seat; he remarked to himself that she had the most charming nose he had ever seen; he wondered what were the regular conditions and limitations of one’s intercourse with a pretty American flirt.

Miss Miller looked at him a moment, and then, very placidly,

“I wish YOU would stay with him!” she said.

Winterbourne hesitated a moment. “I should much rather go to Chillon with you.”

Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh.

“I like a gentleman to be formal!”

she declared.

“I myself shall make a fuss if you don’t go,” said Winterbourne.

“That’s all I want—a little fuss!”

And the young girl began to laugh again.

He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. “I am puzzled,” he answered.

“Well, I hope it won’t keep you awake!”

she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house.

“Am I grave?” he asked. “I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear.”

“You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that’s a grin, your ears are very near together.”

“Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?”

“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.

Daisy began to laugh again.

“I do nothing but listen to gentlemen!”

she exclaimed. “Tell me if Mr. Giovanelli is the right one?”

That she should seem to wish to get rid of him would help him to think more lightly of her, and to be able to think more lightly of her would make her much less perplexing.

But Daisy, on this occasion, continued to present herself as an inscrutable combination of audacity and innocence.

She had been walking some quarter of an hour, attended by her two cavaliers, and responding in a tone of very childish gaiety, as it seemed to Winterbourne, to the pretty speeches of Mr.

“With my mother dear!” exclaimed the young girl. Winterbourne saw that she scented interference. “My mother never walked ten steps in her life. And then, you know,” she added with a laugh,

“I am more than five years old.”

“You are old enough to be more reasonable. You are old enough, dear Miss Miller, to be talked about.”

“I have offered you advice,” Winterbourne rejoined.

“I prefer weak tea!”

cried Daisy, and she went off with the brilliant Giovanelli. She sat with him in the adjoining room, in the embrasure of the window, for the rest of the evening.

Daisy took her seat in the carriage, and the fortunate Italian placed himself beside her. “Don’t forget Eugenio’s pills!” said Winterbourne as he lifted his hat.

“I don’t care,” said Daisy in a little strange tone, “whether I have Roman fever or not!”

Upon this the cab driver cracked his whip, and they rolled away over the desultory patches of the antique pavement.