delicate grace.

Her mother was a small, spare, light person, with a wandering eye,
a very exiguous nose, and a large forehead, decorated with a certain
amount of thin, much frizzled hair. Like her daughter, Mrs. Miller was
dressed with extreme elegance; she had enormous diamonds in her ears.
So far as Winterbourne could observe, she gave him no greeting--she
certainly was not looking at him. Daisy was near her, pulling her shawl
straight. "What are you doing, poking round here?" this young lady
inquired, but by no means with that harshness of accent which her choice
of words may imply.

"I don't know," said her mother, turning toward the lake again.

"I shouldn't think you'd want that shawl!" Daisy exclaimed.

"Well I do!" her mother answered with a little laugh.

"Did you get Randolph to go to bed?" asked the young girl.

"No; I couldn't induce him," said Mrs. Miller very gently. "He wants to
talk to the waiter. He likes to talk to that waiter."

"I was telling Mr. Winterbourne," the young girl went on; and to the
young man's ear her tone might have indicated that she had been uttering
his name all her life.

"Oh, yes!" said Winterbourne; "I have the pleasure of knowing your son."

Randolph's mamma was silent; she turned her attention to the lake. But
at last she spoke. "Well, I don't see how he lives!"

"Anyhow, it isn't so bad as it was at Dover," said Daisy Miller.

"And what occurred at Dover?" Winterbourne asked.

"He wouldn't go to bed at all. I guess he sat up all night in the public
parlor. He wasn't in bed at twelve o'clock: I know that."

"It was half-past twelve," declared Mrs. Miller with mild emphasis.

"Does he sleep much during the day?" Winterbourne demanded.

"I guess he doesn't sleep much," Daisy rejoined.

"I wish he would!" said her mother. "It seems as if he couldn't."

"I think he's real tiresome," Daisy pursued.

Then, for some moments, there was silence. "Well, Daisy Miller," said
the elder lady, presently, "I shouldn't think you'd want to talk against
your own brother!"

"Well, he IS tiresome, Mother," said Daisy, quite without the asperity
of a retort.

"He's only nine," urged Mrs. Miller.

"Well, he wouldn't go to that castle," said the young girl. "I'm going
there with Mr. Winterbourne."

To this announcement, very placidly made, Daisy's mamma offered no
response. Winterbourne took for granted that she deeply disapproved of
the projected excursion; but he said to