Daisy Miller

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there's always a moon!" Mrs. Miller was invisible; she was now, at least, giving her aughter the advantage of her
society. It was evident that Daisy was dangerously ill.
Winterbourne went often to ask for news of her, and once he saw Mrs. Miller, who, though deeply alarmed, was,
rather to his surprise, perfectly composed, and, as it appeared, a most efficient and judicious nurse. She talked a
good deal about Dr. Davis, but Winterbourne paid her the compliment of saying to himself that she was not, after all,
such a monstrous goose. "Daisy spoke of you the other day," she said to him. "Half the time she doesn't know what
she's saying, but that time I think she did. She gave me a message she told me to tell you. She told me to tell you that
she never was engaged to that handsome Italian. I am sure I am very glad; Mr. Giovanelli hasn't been near us since
she was taken ill. I thought he was so much of a gentleman; but I don't call that very polite! A lady told me that he
was afraid I was angry with him for taking Daisy round at night. Well, so I am, but I suppose he knows I'm a lady. I
would scorn to scold him. Anyway, she says she's not engaged. I don't know why she wanted you to know, but she
said to me three times, 'Mind you tell Mr. Winterbourne.' And then she told me to ask if you remembered the time
you went to that castle in Switzerland. But I said I wouldn't give any such messages as that. Only, if she is not
engaged, I'm sure I'm glad to know it."
But, as Winterbourne had said, it mattered very little. A week after this, the poor girl died; it had been a terrible case
of the fever. Daisy's grave was in the little Protestant cemetery, in an angle of the wall of imperial Rome, beneath
the cypresses and the thick spring flowers. Winterbourne stood there beside it, with a number of other mourners, a
number larger than the scandal excited by the young lady's career would have led you to expect. Near him stood
Giovanelli, who came nearer still before Winterbourne turned away. Giovanelli was very pale: on this occasion he
had no flower in his buttonhole; he seemed to wish to say something. At last he said, "She was the most beautiful
young lady I ever saw, and the most amiable"; and then he added in a moment, "and she was the most innocent."
Winterbourne looked at him and presently repeated his words, "And the most innocent?"
"The most innocent!"
Winterbourne felt sore and angry. "Why the devil," he asked, "did you take her to that fatal place?"
Mr. Giovanelli's urbanity was apparently imperturbable. He looked on the ground a moment, and then he said, "For
myself I had no fear; and she wanted to go."
"That was no reason!" Winterbourne declared.
The subtle Roman again dropped his eyes. "If she had lived, I should have got nothing. She would never have married
me, I am sure."
"She would never have married you?"
"For a moment I hoped so. But no. I am sure."
Winterbourne listened to him: he stood staring at the raw protuberance among the April daisies. When he turned
away again, Mr. Giovanelli, with his light, slow step, had retired.
Winterbourne almost immediately left Rome; but the following summer he again met his aunt, Mrs. Costello at
Vevey. Mrs. Costello was fond of Vevey. In the interval Winterbourne had often thought of Daisy Miller and her
mystifying manners. One day he spoke of her to his aunt--said it was on his conscience that he had done her
injustice.
"I am sure I don't know," said Mrs. Costello. "How did your injustice affect her?"
"She sent me a message before her death which I didn't understand at the time; but I have understood it since. She
would have appreciated one's esteem."
"Is that a modest way," asked Mrs. Costello, "of saying that she would have reciprocated one's affection?"
Winterbourne offered no answer to this question; but he presently said, "You were right in that remark that you
made last summer. I was booked to make a mistake. I have lived too long in foreign parts."
Nevertheless, he went back to live at Geneva, whence there continue to come the most contradictory accounts of
his motives of sojourn: a report that he is "studying" hard--an intimation that he is much interested in a very clever
foreign lady. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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