Cleone came across the room.
"Yes, Jenny? Has Mr. Jettan been saying dreadfully flattering things to you?"
"N—yes, I think he has! And he says I must still call him Philip. And oh! he is going to write a—a sonnet to my eyes, tied with snowdrops! Mr. J—Philip, what is Cleone's flower?"
Philip had risen. He put a chair forward for Cleone.
"Can you ask, Jenny? What but a rose?"
Cleone sat down. Her lips smiled steadily.
"A rose? Surely it's a flaunting flower, sir?"
"Ah, mademoiselle, it must be that you have never seen a rose just bursting from the bud!"
"Oh, la! I am overcome, sir! And I have not yet thanked you for the bouquet you sent me this morning!"
Philip's eyes travelled to the violets at her breast.