"Pray what is it that happens—here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.
"The girl goes about alone with her fners. As to what happens further, you must apply elwhere for information. She has picked up half a dozen of the regular Roman fortune hunters, and she takes them about to people''s hous. When she es to a party she brings with her a gentleman with a good deal of manner and a wonderful mustache."
"And where is the mother?"
"I haven''t the least idea. They are very dreadful people."
Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant—very i only. Depend upon it they are not bad."
"They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no being hopelessly vulgar is being ''bad'' is a question for the metaphysis. They are bad enough to dislike, at any rate; and for this short life that is quite enough."
The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked Winterbourne''s impul to go straightway to e her. He had, perhaps, not definitely flattered himlf that he had made an ineffaceable impression upon her heart, but he was annoyed at hearing of a state of affairs so little in harmony with an image that had lately flitted in and out of his own meditations; the image of a very pretty girl looking out of an old Roman window and asking herlf urgently when Mr. Winterbourne would arrive. If, however, he determined to wait a little before reminding Miss Miller of his claims to her sideration, he went very soon to call upon two or three other friends. One of the friends was an Ameribsp;lady who had spent veral winters at Geneva, where she had plabsp;her children at school. She was a very aplished woman, and she lived in the Via Gregoriana.
"Pray what is it that happens—here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.
"The girl goes about alone with her fners. As to what happens further, you must apply elwhere for information. She has picked up half a dozen of the regular Roman fortune hunters, and she takes them about to people''s hous. When she es to a party she brings with her a gentleman with a good deal of manner and a wonderful mustache."
"And where is the mother?"
"I haven''t the least idea. They are very dreadful people."
Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant—very i only. Depend upon it they are not bad."
"They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no being hopelessly vulgar is being ''bad'' is a question for the metaphysis. They are bad enough to dislike, at any rate; and for this short life that is quite enough."
The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked Winterbourne''s impul to go straightway to e her. He had, perhaps, not definitely flattered himlf that he had made an ineffaceable impression upon her heart, but he was annoyed at hearing of a state of affairs so little in harmony with an image that had lately flitted in and out of his own meditations; the image of a very pretty girl looking out of an old Roman window and asking herlf urgently when Mr. Winterbourne would arrive. If, however, he determined to wait a little before reminding Miss Miller of his claims to her sideration, he went very soon to call upon two or three other friends. One of the friends was an Ameribsp;lady who had spent veral winters at Geneva, where she had plabsp;her children at school. She was a very aplished woman, and she lived in the Via Gregoriana.