She was worn out trying to keep up before people and to be brave as they bade her.

It was a relief to put out the light and, lying there alone in the dark, cry and cry till at last she sobbed herself to sleep.
Not till the next morning did she begin to feel the wrench of leaving, when the fresh fragrance of wet lilacs awakened her, blowing up from the old garden where all the sweetness of early April was astir.

Then she remembered that she would be far, far away when the June roses bloomed at Commencement, and that this was the last time she would ever be wakened by the blossoms and bird-calls of the dear old garden.
She sat up and looked around the room from one familiar object to another, oppressed and miserable at the thought that she would never see them again.

Then her glance rested on Lloyd's picture, and for once the make-believe companionship of Lloyd's shadow-self brought a comfort as deep as if her real self had spoken.

She held out her arms to it, whispering brokenly: "Oh, _you_ understand how hard it is, don't you, dear?
You're the only one in the world who does, because you had to give up all this, too." Gazing at the pictured face through her tears, she recalled how Lloyd had met _her_ disappointment, trying to live each day so unselfishly that she could go on, stringing the little pearls on her rosary.
"If you could do it, I can too," she said presently.