She had
two sons married in New York and another who was now in Europe. This
young man was amusing himself at Hamburg, and, though he was on his
travels, was rarely perceived to visit any particular city at the moment
selected by his mother for her own appearance there. Her nephew, who had
come up to Vevey expressly to see her, was therefore more attentive than
those who, as she said, were nearer to her. He had imbibed at Geneva the
idea that one must always be attentive to one's aunt. Mrs. Costello
had not seen him for many years, and she was greatly pleased with him,
manifesting her approbation by initiating him into many of the secrets
of that social sway which, as she gave him to understand, she exerted in
the American capital. She admitted that she was very exclusive; but, if
he were acquainted with New York, he would see that one had to be. And
her picture of the minutely hierarchical constitution of the society of
that city, which she presented to him in many different lights, was, to
Winterbourne's imagination, almost oppressively striking.

He immediately perceived, from her tone, that Miss Daisy Miller's place
in the social scale was low. "I am afraid you don't approve of them," he
said.

"They are very common," Mrs. Costello declared. "They are the sort of
Americans that one does one's duty by not--not accepting."

"Ah, you don't accept them?" said the young man.

"I can't, my dear Frederick. I would if I could, but I can't."

"The young girl is very pretty," said Winterbourne in a moment.

"Of course she's pretty. But she is very common."

"I see what you mean, of course," said Winterbourne after another pause.

"She has that charming look that they all have," his aunt resumed. "I
can't think where they pick it up; and she dresses in perfection--no,
you don't know how well she dresses. I can't think where they get their
taste."

"But, my dear aunt, she is not, after all, a Comanche savage."

"She is a young lady," said Mrs. Costello, "who has an intimacy with her
mamma's courier."

"An intimacy with the courier?" the young man demanded.

"Oh, the mother is just as bad! They treat the courier like a familiar
friend--like a gentleman. I shouldn't wonder if he dines with them.
Very likely they have never seen a man with such good manners, such
fine clothes, so like a gentleman. He probably corresponds to the young
lady's idea of a count. He sits with them in the garden in the evening.
I think he s