n, to be shocked!"

"But don't they all do these things--the young girls in America?"
Winterbourne inquired.

Mrs. Costello stared a moment. "I should like to see my granddaughters
do them!" she declared grimly.

This seemed to throw some light upon the matter, for Winterbourne
remembered to have heard that his pretty cousins in New York were
"tremendous flirts." If, therefore, Miss Daisy Miller exceeded the
liberal margin allowed to these young ladies, it was probable that
anything might be expected of her. Winterbourne was impatient to see her
again, and he was vexed with himself that, by instinct, he should not
appreciate her justly.

Though he was impatient to see her, he hardly knew what he should say
to her about his aunt's refusal to become acquainted with her; but he
discovered, promptly enough, that with Miss Daisy Miller there was
no great need of walking on tiptoe. He found her that evening in the
garden, wandering about in the warm starlight like an indolent sylph,
and swinging to and fro the largest fan he had ever beheld. It was ten
o'clock. He had dined with his aunt, had been sitting with her since
dinner, and had just taken leave of her till the morrow. Miss Daisy
Miller seemed very glad to see him; she declared it was the longest
evening she had ever passed.

"Have you been all alone?" he asked.

"I have been walking round with mother. But mother gets tired walking
round," she answered.

"Has she gone to bed?"

"No; she doesn't like to go to bed," said the young girl. "She doesn't
sleep--not three hours. She says she doesn't know how she lives. She's
dreadfully nervous. I guess she sleeps more than she thinks. She's gone
somewhere after Randolph; she wants to try to get him to go to bed. He
doesn't like to go to bed."

"Let us hope she will persuade him," observed Winterbourne.

"She will talk to him all she can; but he doesn't like her to talk
to him," said Miss Daisy, opening her fan. "She's going to try to get
Eugenio to talk to him. But he isn't afraid of Eugenio. Eugenio's a
splendid courier, but he can't make much impression on Randolph! I don't
believe he'll go to bed before eleven." It appeared that Randolph's
vigil was in fact triumphantly prolonged, for Winterbourne strolled
about with the young girl for some time without meeting her mother. "I
have been looking round for that lady you want to introduce me to," his
companion resumed. "She's your aunt." Then, on Winterbourne's adm