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few moments he saw her mother come in alone, very shyly and ruefully. Mrs. Miller's hair above her exposed-
looking temples was more frizzled than ever. As she approached Mrs. Walker, Winterbourne also drew near.
"You see, I've come all alone," said poor Mrs. Miller. "I'm so frightened; I don't know what to do. It's the first time
I've ever been to a party alone, especially in this country. I wanted to bring Randolph or Eugenio, or someone, but
Daisy just pushed me off by myself. I ain't used to going round alone."
"And does not your daughter intend to favor us with her society?" demanded Mrs. Walker impressively.
"Well, Daisy's all dressed," said Mrs. Miller with that accent of the dispassionate, if not of the philosophic, historian
with which she always recorded the current incidents of her daughter's career. "She got dressed on purpose before
dinner. But she's got a friend of hers there; that gentleman--the Italian--that she wanted to bring. They've got going
at the piano; it seems as if they couldn't leave off. Mr. Giovanelli sings splendidly. But I guess they'll come before
very long," concluded Mrs. Miller hopefully.
"I'm sorry she should come in that way," said Mrs. Walker.
"Well, I told her that there was no use in her getting dressed before dinner if she was going to wait three hours,"
responded Daisy's mamma. "I didn't see the use of her putting on such a dress as that to sit round with Mr.
Giovanelli."
"This is most horrible!" said Mrs. Walker, turning away and addressing herself to Winterbourne. "Elle s'affiche. It's
her revenge for my having ventured to remonstrate with her. When she comes, I shall not speak to her."
Daisy came after eleven o'clock; but she was not, on such an occasion, a young lady to wait to be spoken to. She
rustled forward in radiant loveliness, smiling and chattering, carrying a large bouquet, and attended by Mr.
Giovanelli. Everyone stopped talking and turned and looked at her. She came straight to Mrs. Walker. "I'm afraid you
thought I never was coming, so I sent mother off to tell you. I wanted to make Mr. Giovanelli practice some things
before he came; you know he sings beautifully, and I want you to ask him to sing. This is Mr. Giovanelli; you know I
introduced him to you; he's got the most lovely voice, and he knows the most charming set of songs. I made him go
over them this evening on purpose; we had the greatest time at the hotel." Of all this Daisy delivered herself with
the sweetest, brightest audibleness, looking now at her hostess and now round the room, while she gave a series of
little pats, round her shoulders, to the edges of her dress. "Is there anyone I know?" she asked.
"I think every one knows you!" said Mrs. Walker pregnantly, and she gave a very cursory greeting to Mr. Giovanelli.
This gentleman bore himself gallantly. He smiled and bowed and showed his white teeth; he curled his mustaches
and rolled his eyes and performed all the proper functions of a handsome Italian at an evening party. He sang very
prettily half a dozen songs, though Mrs. Walker afterward declared that she had been quite unable to find out who
asked him. It was apparently not Daisy who had given him his orders. Daisy sat at a distance from the piano, and
though she had publicly, as it were, professed a high admiration for his singing, talked, not inaudibly, while it was
going on.
"It's a pity these rooms are so small; we can't dance," she said to Winterbourne, as if she had seen him five minutes
before.
"I am not sorry we can't dance," Winterbourne answered; "I don't dance."
"Of course you don't dance; you're too stiff," said Miss Daisy. "I hope you enjoyed your drive with Mrs. Walker!"
"No. I didn't enjoy it; I preferred walking with you."
"We paired off: that was much better," said Daisy. "But did you ever hear anything so cool as Mrs. Walker's wanting
me to get into her carriage and drop poor Mr. Giovanelli, and under the pretext that it was proper? People have
different ideas! It would have been most unkind; he had been talking about that walk for ten days."
"He should not have talked about it at all," said Winterbourne; "he would never have proposed to a young lady of
this country to walk about the streets with him."
"About the streets?" cried Daisy with her pretty stare. "Where, then, would he have proposed to her to walk? The
Pincio is not the streets, either; and I, thank goodness, am not a young lady of this country. The young ladies of this
country have a dreadfully poky time of it, so far as I can learn; I don't see why I should change my habits for them."
"I am afraid your habits are those of a flirt," said Winterbourne gravely.
"Of course they are," she cried, giving him her little smiling stare again. "I'm a fearful, frightful flirt! Did you ever hear
of a nice girl that was not? But I suppose you will tell me now that I am not a nice girl."
"You're a very nice girl; but I wish you would flirt with me, and me only," said Winterbourne.
"Ah! thank you--thank you very much; you are the last man I should think of flirting with. As I have had the pleasure
of informing you, you are too stiff."
"You say that too often," said Winterbourne.
Daisy gave a delighted laugh. "If I could have the sweet hope of making you angry, I should say it again."
"Don't do that; when I am angry I'm stiffer than ever. But if you won't flirt with me, do cease, at least, to flirt with
your friend at the piano; they don't understand that sort of thing here."
"I thought they understood nothing else!" exclaimed Daisy.
"Not in young unmarried women."
"It seems to me much more proper in young unmarried women than in old married ones," Daisy declared.
"Well," said Winterbourne, "when you deal with natives you must go by the custom of the place. Flirting is a purely
American custom; it doesn't exist here. So when you show yourself in public with Mr. Giovanelli, and without your
mother--"
"Gracious! poor Mother!" interposed Daisy.
"Though you may be flirting, Mr. Giovanelli is not; he means something else."
"He isn't preaching, at any rate," said Daisy with vivacity. "And if you want very much to know, we are neither of us
flirting; we are too good friends for that: we are very intimate friends."
"Ah!" rejoined Winterbourne, "if you are in love with each other, it is another affair."
She had allowed him up to this point to talk so frankly that he had no expectation of shocking her by this ejaculation;
but she immediately got up, blushing visibly, and leaving him to exclaim mentally that little American flirts were the
queerest creatures in the world. "Mr. Giovanelli, at least," she said, giving her interlocutor a single glance, "never
says such very disagreeable things to me."
Winterbourne was bewildered; he stood, staring. Mr. Giovanelli had finished singing. He left the piano and came
over to Daisy. "Won't you come into the other room and have some tea?" he asked, bending before her with his
ornamental smile.
Daisy turned to Winterbourne, beginning to smile again. He was still more perplexed, for this inconsequent smile
made nothing clear, though it seemed to prove, indeed, that she had a sweetness and softness that reverted
instinctively to the pardon of offenses. "It has never occurred to Mr. Winterbourne to offer me any tea," she said
with her little tormenting manner.
"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. There was an interesting performance at the
piano, but neither of these young people gave heed to it. When Daisy came to take leave of Mrs. Walker, this lady [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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