"And if it makes your face yellow, then you're fond of butter—whether you ever had any or not."
So Mrs. Ladybug perched herself on a big blossom and peered earnestly into its cup.
"Is my face yellow?" she asked Betsy.
"I do believe it is!" Betsy Butterfly cried.
And Mrs. Ladybug looked much pleased.
"I've always known I had refined tastes," she remarked with a lofty air. "And now I'd like to sample a bit of butter; but I don't know where to find any."
[p. 41]"Butter? They make it at the farmhouse," Betsy informed her.
"Then perhaps Farmer Green's wife will let me have a little," Mrs. Ladybug said hopefully. "I'll go over to the farmhouse at once.... It's too bad you don't like butter, too," she added.
But secretly she was delighted that Betsy Butterfly had looked into a buttercup in vain.