dependents.

Tom's words still rankled. Betty's temper flared up
belligerently as she recalled them. He had evidently meant to
insinuate that Charley had lied outright when he told her the
motive for the attack, and he had followed it up by that covert
slur on his character. Charley's devotion was the thing that
redeemed the dull monotony of existence. She became suddenly
humble and tenderly penitent in her mood toward him; he loved her
much better than she deserved, and she suspected that her own
attitude had been habitually ungenerous and selfish. She had
accepted all and yielded nothing. She wondered gravely why it
was she did not love him; she was fond of him--she was very, very
fond of him; she wondered if after all, as he said, this were not
the beginning of love, the beginning of that deeper feeling which
she was not sure she understood, not sure she should ever
experience.

The thought of Charley's unwavering affection gave her a great
sense of peace; it was something to have inspired such devotion,
she could never be quite desperate while she had him. She must
try to make him understand how possible an ideal friendship was
between them, how utterly impossible anything else. She would
like to have seen Charley happily married to some nice girl--
"I wonder whom!" thought Betty, gazing deep into the night
through her drooping lashes. She considered possible candidates
for the happiness she herself seemed so willing to forego, but
for one reason or another dismissed them all. "I am not sure I
should care to see him marry," she confessed under her breath.
"It would spoil everything. Men are much nicer than girls!" And