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“You can go in the cars,” said Miss Miller.

“Yes; you can go in the cars,” Winterbourne assented.

“Our courier says they take you right up to the castle,” the young girl continued.”We were going last week, but my mother gave out. She suffers dreadfully from dyspepsia. She said she couldn’t go. Randolph wouldn’t go either; he says he doesn’t think much of old castles. But I guess we’ll go this week, if we can get Randolph.”

“Your brother is not interested in ancient monuments?” Winterbourne inquired, smiling.

“He says he don’t care much about old castles. He’s only nine. He wants to stay at the hotel. Mother’s afraid to leave him alone, and the courier won’t stay with him; so we haven’t been to many places. But it will be too bad if we don’t go up there.”And Miss Miller pointed again at the Chateau de Chillon.

“I should think it might be arranged,” said Winterbourne.”Couldn’t you get some one to stay for the afternoon with Randolph?”

Miss Miller looked at him a moment, and then, very placidly, “I wish youwould stay with him!” she said.

Winterbourne hesitated a moment.”I should much rather go to Chillon with you.”

“With me?” asked the young girl with the same placidity.

She didn’t rise, blushing, as a young girl at Geneva would have done; and yet Winterbourne, conscious that he had been very bold, thought it possible she was offended.”With your mother,” he answered very respectfully.

But it seemed that both his audacity and his respect were lost upon Miss Daisy Miller.”I guess my mother won’t go, after all,” she said.”She don’t like to ride round in the afternoon. But did you really mean what you said just now–that you would like to go up there?”

“Most earnestly,” Winterbourne declared.

“Then we may arrange it. If mother will stay with Randolph, I guess Eugenio will.”

“Eugenio?” the young man inquired.

“Eugenio’s our courier. He doesn’t like to stay with Randolph; he’s the most fastidious man I ever saw. But he’s a splendid courier. I guess he’ll stay at home with Randolph if mother does, and then we can go to the castle.”

Winterbourne reflected for an instant as lucidly as possible– “we” could only mean Miss Daisy Miller and himself. This program seemed almost too agreeable for credence; he felt as if he ought to kiss the young lady’s hand. Possibly he would have done so and quite spoiled the project, but at this moment another person, presumably Eugenio, appeared. A tall, handsome man, with superb whiskers, wearing a velvet morning coat and a brilliant watch chain, approached Miss Miller, looking sharply at her companion.”Oh, Eugenio!” said Miss Miller with the friendliest accent.

Eugenio had looked at Winterbourne from head to foot; he now bowed gravely to the young lady.”I have the honor to inform mademoiselle that luncheon is upon the table.”

Miss Miller slowly rose.”See here, Eugenio!” she said; “I’m going to that old castle, anyway.”

“To the Chateau de Chillon, mademoiselle?” the courier inquired.”Mademoiselle has made arrangements?” he added in a tone which struck Winterbourne as very impertinent.

Eugenio’s tone apparently threw, even to Miss Miller’s own apprehension, a slightly ironical light upon the young girl’s situation. She turned to Winterbourne, blushing a little–a very little.”You won’t back out?” she said.

“I shall not be happy till we go!” he protested.

“And you are staying in this hotel?” she went on.”And you are really an American?”

The courier stood looking at Winterbourne offensively. The young man, at least, thought his manner of looking an offense to Miss Miller; it conveyed an imputation that she “picked up” acquaintances.”I shall have the honor of presenting to you a person who will tell you all about me,” he said, smiling and referring to his aunt.

“Oh, well, we’ll go some day,” said Miss Miller. And she gave him a smile and turned away. She put up her parasol and walked back to the inn beside Eugenio. Winterbourne stood looking after her; and as she moved away, drawing her muslin furbelows over the gravel, said to himself that she had the tournure of a princess.