Anne wondered why Gilbert should have sent her flowers for Convocation.  She had seen very little of him during the past winter.  He had come to Patty’s Place only one Friday evening since the Christmas holidays, and they rarely met elsewhere.  She knew he was studying very hard, aiming at High Honors and the Cooper Prize, and he took little part in the social doings of Redmond.  Anne’s own winter had been quite gay socially.  She had seen a good deal of the Gardners; she and Dorothy were very intimate; college circles expected the announcement of her engagement to Roy any day.  Anne expected it herself.  Yet just before she left Patty’s Place for Convocation she flung Roy’s violets aside and put Gilbert’s lilies-of-the-valley in their place.  She could not have told why she did it.  Somehow, old Avonlea days and dreams and friendships seemed very close to her in this attainment of her long-cherished ambitions.  She and Gilbert had once picturedout merrily the day on which they should be capped and gowned graduates in Arts.  The wonderful day had come and Roy’s violets had no place in it.  Only her old friend’s flowers seemed to belong to this fruition of old-blossoming hopes which he had once shared.

For years this day had beckoned and allured to her; but when it came the one single, keen, abiding memory it left with her was not that of the breathless moment when the stately president of Redmond gave her cap and diploma and hailed her B.A.; it was not of the flash in Gilbert’s eyes when he saw her lilies, nor the puzzled pained glance Roy gave her as he passed her on the platform.  It was not of Aline Gardner’s condescending congratulations, or Dorothy’s ardent, impulsive good wishes.  It was of one strange, unaccountable pang that spoiled this long-expected day for her and left in it a certain faint but enduring flavor of bitterness.

The Arts graduates gave a graduation dance that night.  When Anne dressed for it she tossed aside the pearl beads she usually wore and took from her trunk the small box that had come to Green Gables on Christmas day.  In it was a thread-like gold chain with a tiny pink enamel heart as a pendant.  On the accompanying card was written, “With all good wishes from your old chum, Gilbert.”  Anne, laughing over the memory the enamel heart conjured up the fatal day when Gilbert had called her “Carrots” and vainly tried to make his peace with a pink candy heart, had written him a nice little note of thanks.  But she had never worn the trinket.  Tonight she fastened it about her white throat with a dreamy smile.

She and Phil walked to Redmond together.  Anne walked in silence; Phil chattered of many things.  Suddenly she said,

“I heard today that Gilbert Blythe’s engagement to Christine Stuart was to be announced as soon as Convocation was over.  Did you hear anything of it?”

“No,” said Anne.

“I think it’s true,” said Phil lightly.

Anne did not speak.  In the darkness she felt her face burning.  She slipped her hand inside her collar and caught at the gold chain.  One energetic twist and it gave way.  Anne thrust the broken trinket into her pocket.  Her hands were trembling and her eyes were smarting.