She was not disappointed--not a bit. Perhaps it was because
she had heard so much about it before. She had ever so many
intimate friends that had been there ever so many times.
And then she had had ever so many dresses and things from Paris.
Whenever she put on a Paris dress she felt as if she
were in Europe.

"It was a kind of a wishing cap," said Winterbourne.

"Yes," said Miss Miller without examining this analogy;
"it always made me wish I was here. But I needn't have
done that for dresses. I am sure they send all the pretty
ones to America; you see the most frightful things here.
The only thing I don't like," she proceeded, "is the society.
There isn't any society; or, if there is, I don't know
where it keeps itself. Do you? I suppose there is some
society somewhere, but I haven't seen anything of it.
I'm very fond of society, and I have always had a great deal of it.
I don't mean only in Schenectady, but in New York.
I used to go to New York every winter. In New York I had lots
of society. Last winter I had seventeen dinners given me;
and three of them were by gentlemen," added Daisy Miller.
"I have more friends in New York than in Schenectady--
more gentleman friends; and more young lady friends too,"
she resumed in a moment. She paused again for an instant;
she was looking at Winterbourne with all her prettiness in her
lively eyes and in her light, slightly monotonous smile.
"I have always had," she said, "a great deal of gentlemen's society."

Poor Winterbourne was amused, perplexed, and decidedly charmed.