thick dusk?" Winterbourne asked.

"Well!" cried Miss Daisy Miller with a laugh; "I guess I know my own mother.
And when she has got on my shawl, too! She is always wearing my things."

The lady in question, ceasing to advance, hovered vaguely about the spot
at which she had checked her steps.

"I am afraid your mother doesn't see you," said Winterbourne.
"Or perhaps," he added, thinking, with Miss Miller, the joke
permissible--"perhaps she feels guilty about your shawl."

"Oh, it's a fearful old thing!" the young girl replied serenely.
"I told her she could wear it. She won't come here because she sees you."

"Ah, then," said Winterbourne, "I had better leave you."

"Oh, no; come on!" urged Miss Daisy Miller.

"I'm afraid your mother doesn't approve of my walking with you."

Miss Miller gave him a serious glance. "It isn't for me;
it's for you--that is, it's for HER. Well, I don't know who
it's for! But mother doesn't like any of my gentlemen friends.
She's right down timid. She always makes a fuss if I introduce
a gentleman. But I DO introduce them--almost always.
If I didn't introduce my gentlemen friends to Mother,"
the young girl added in her little soft, flat monotone,
"I shouldn't think I was natural."