that she
was a proud, rude woman, and to declare that they needn't mind her.
But before he had time to commit himself to this perilous mixture
of gallantry and impiety, the young lady, resuming her walk, gave an
exclamation in quite another tone. "Well, here's Mother! I guess she
hasn't got Randolph to go to bed." The figure of a lady appeared at a
distance, very indistinct in the darkness, and advancing with a slow and
wavering movement. Suddenly it seemed to pause.

"Are you sure it is your mother? Can you distinguish her in this thick
dusk?" Winterbourne asked.

"Well!" cried Miss Daisy Miller with a laugh; "I guess I know my own
mother. And when she has got on my shawl, too! She is always wearing my
things."

The lady in question, ceasing to advance, hovered vaguely about the spot
at which she had checked her steps.

"I am afraid your mother doesn't see you," said Winterbourne.
"Or perhaps," he added, thinking, with Miss Miller, the joke
permissible--"perhaps she feels guilty about your shawl."

"Oh, it's a fearful old thing!" the young girl replied serenely. "I told
her she could wear it. She won't come here because she sees you."

"Ah, then," said Winterbourne, "I had better leave you."

"Oh, no; come on!" urged Miss Daisy Miller.

"I'm afraid your mother doesn't approve of my walking with you."

Miss Miller gave him a serious glance. "It isn't for me; it's for
you--that is, it's for HER. Well, I don't know who it's for! But mother
doesn't like any of my gentlemen friends. She's right down timid. She
always makes a fuss if I introduce a gentleman. But I DO introduce
them--almost always. If I didn't introduce my gentlemen friends to
Mother," the young girl added in her little soft, flat monotone, "I
shouldn't think I was natural."

"To introduce me," said Winterbourne, "you must know my name." And he
proceeded to pronounce it.

"Oh, dear, I can't say all that!" said his companion with a laugh. But
by this time they had come up to Mrs. Miller, who, as they drew near,
walked to the parapet of the garden and leaned upon it, looking intently
at the lake and turning her back to them. "Mother!" said the young
girl in a tone of decision. Upon this the elder lady turned round. "Mr.
Winterbourne," said Miss Daisy Miller, introducing the young man very
frankly and prettily. "Common," she was, as Mrs. Costello had pronounced
her; yet it was a wonder to Winterbourne that, with her commonness, she
had a singularly