"If I could mention the matter to Marguerite," thought Phillip, as he sat in his office for a few moment's respite after a day of toilsome labor over some perplexing law points in a case which gained much notoriety, and which had also gained for the leading counsel a reputation for earnestness and strict integrity that must inevitably be crowned with success.
"If I could only ask her advice in the matter," thought he, "what a relief it would afford."
But the words froze upon his lips, and Marguerite remained as before in utter ignorance of the failure.
"Why do such questions arise," murmured the young man sadly, and his thoughts reminded him of the renowned son of Jupiter dying of thirst with the tempting element raised to his chin, but could not partake of a single drop. "Ah! there's many a modern Tantalus," said Phillip wearily, "many a Tantalus."
Marguerite had received several letters from Mrs. Arnold, but they were vague, unsatisfactory and suppressed. There was an attempt at concealment that gave the girl much concern, yet she did not communicate the fact to Mrs. Verne.
"Poor mamma has enough to think of," thought she, "and as they say, it is no use to be borrowing trouble, so I'll hope for the best."
Could one have glanced into Mrs. Montague Arnold's private life what a picture would be presented to us—one anything but pleasing to look upon—where alike was depicted disappointment, disgust, anger, sullen resentment and hate.
Add to this dissipation, an utter disregard for the home duties of woman, and one can form some idea of the unenviable position of this fashionable creature.
Of the husband what can we say?
Montague Arnold is indeed far on the downward road to ruin. Dissipation has made fearful ravages upon his hitherto handsome face, and in the bloated features, inflamed eyes, and idiotic expression, there is little left to convey an impression that the gay and fashionable world once coveted such a prize.