“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 himself that she was a simple, easily managed person, and that a few deferential protestations would take the edge from her displeasure.  “Yes,” he began; “your daughter has kindly allowed me the honor of being her guide.”

Mrs. Miller’s wandering eyes attached themselves, with a sort of appealing air, to Daisy, who, however, strolled a few steps farther, gently humming to herself.  “I presume you will go in the cars,” said her mother.

“Yes, or in the boat,” said Winterbourne.

“Well, of course, I don’t know,” Mrs. Miller rejoined. 
“I have never been to that castle.”

“It is a pity you shouldn’t go,” said Winterbourne, beginning to feel reassured as to her opposition.  And yet he was quite prepared to find that, as a matter of course, she meant to accompany her daughter.

“We’ve been thinking ever so much about going,” she pursued; “but it seems as if we couldn’t.  Of course Daisy—­she wants to go round.  But there’s a lady here—­I don’t know her name—­ she says she shouldn’t think we’d want to go to see castles here; she should think we’d want to wait till we got to Italy.  It seems as if there would be so many there,” continued Mrs. Miller with an air of increasing confidence.  “Of course we only want to see the principal ones.  We visited several in England,” she presently added.

“Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles,” said Winterbourne.  “But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing.”

“Well, if Daisy feels up to it—­” said Mrs. Miller, in a tone impregnated with a sense of the magnitude of the enterprise.  “It seems as if there was nothing she wouldn’t undertake.”

“Oh, I think she’ll enjoy it!” Winterbourne declared.  And he desired more and more to make it a certainty that he was to have the privilege of a tete-a-tete with the young lady, who was still strolling along in front of them, softly vocalizing.  “You are not disposed, madam,” he inquired, “to undertake it yourself?”

Daisy’s mother looked at him an instant askance, and then walked forward in silence.  Then—­“I guess she had better go alone,” she said simply.  Winterbourne observed to himself that this was a very different type of maternity from that of the vigilant matrons who massed themselves in the forefront of social intercourse in the dark old city at the other end of the lake.  But his meditations were interrupted by hearing his name very distinctly pronounced by Mrs. Miller’s unprotected daughter.