“Oh, yes; she was like a beautiful Amazon. Well, she either had reason to think, or she imagined, that Schuyler pretended to love her, and was really in love with some dear little clinging rosebud.”

“Clinging rosebud! What an absurd expression! And yet⁠—by Jove!⁠—it just fits her! And Miss Van Norman said to me⁠—oh, I say, Miss French, don’t you know who the rosebud is?”

“No,” said Kitty, wondering at his sudden look of dismay.

“Well, I do! Oh, this is getting dreadful. Come outside with me and let’s look into this idea. I hope it’s only an idea!”

Throwing a soft fawn-colored cape round her, and drawing its pink-lined hood over her curly hair, Kitty went with Fessenden out on the lawn and down to the little arbor where they had sat before.