She was conscious of a choking sense of gratitude
as she recalled his patient tenderness at that time, the sympathy
and understanding he had shown; it was something never to be
forgotten.
Unrest presently sent her from the house. She wandered down to
the terrace. Before her was the wide sweep of the swampy
fore-shore, and beyond just beginning to silver in the moonlight,
the bend of the river growing out of the black void. With her
eyes on the river and her hands clasped loosely she watched the
distant line of the Arkansas coast grow up against the sky; she
realized that the moon was rising on Betty Malroy for the last
time.
She liked Charley; she needed some one to take care of her and
her belongings, and he needed her. It was best for them both
that she should marry him. True she might have gone back to
Judith Ferris; that would have been one solution of her
difficulties. Why hadn't she thought of doing this before? Of
course, Charley would have followed her East. Charley met the
ordinary duties and responsibilities of his position somewhat
recklessly; it was only where she was concerned that he became
patiently determined.
"I suppose the end would have been the same there as here,"
thought Betty.
A moment later she found herself wondering if Charley had told
Carrington yet; certainly the Kentuckian would not remain at
Thicket Point when he knew. She was sure she wished him to leave
not Thicket Point merely, but the neighborhood.
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