"To introduce me," said Winterbourne, "you must know my name."
And he proceeded to pronounce it.

"Oh, dear, I can't say all that!" said his companion with a laugh.
But by this time they had come up to Mrs. Miller, who, as they
drew near, walked to the parapet of the garden and leaned upon it,
looking intently at the lake and turning her back to them.
"Mother!" said the young girl in a tone of decision.
Upon this the elder lady turned round. "Mr. Winterbourne," said Miss
Daisy Miller, introducing the young man very frankly and prettily.
"Common," she was, as Mrs. Costello had pronounced her;
yet it was a wonder to Winterbourne that, with her commonness,
she had a singularly delicate grace.

Her mother was a small, spare, light person, with a
wandering eye, a very exiguous nose, and a large forehead,
decorated with a certain amount of thin, much frizzled hair.
Like her daughter, Mrs. Miller was dressed with extreme elegance;
she had enormous diamonds in her ears. So far as Winterbourne
could observe, she gave him no greeting--she certainly was not
looking at him. Daisy was near her, pulling her shawl straight.
"What are you doing, poking round here?" this young lady inquired,
but by no means with that harshness of accent which her choice
of words may imply.

"I don't know," said her mother, turning toward the lake again.

"I shouldn't think you'd want that shawl!" Daisy exclaimed.

"Well I do!" her mother answered with a little laugh.