She could see the very seat at the foot of the big tree where she had sat the day Emma Dean had poked her head about the big syringa bush and mournfully handed her the letter from Ruth Denton's father which had been buried in the pocket of Emma's coat for so many weeks.

She smiled as she recalled the ludicrously penitent expression with which Emma had delivered the letter.

There were the library steps on which Arline Thayer had sat and cried so disconsolately because she could not go home for Christmas.
Once more she saw a strange procession winding its way across the campus headed by a walking, chattering scarecrow, Emma Dean again in her famous representation of "Never Too Late to Mend," which had been one of the great features of the Famous Fiction dance.
Then she saw four girls, with their shining heads bared to the sun, strolling across the campus, talking earnestly of what the future held for them.

And still again she saw them in caps and gowns marching toward the Gate of Commencement.

It was only a little time since they had passed through that gateway, yet how long it seemed.
Suddenly her look of abstraction changed to one of startled interest.
Running to the door she threw it open and listened intently.