Another queen succeeded and with many a bitter feeling the former is a thing of the past. Men have ceased to rave over the dark-eyed syren and now behold her as a being of a secondary order.
Mrs. Arnold attributed such slights to her husband's altered position and loud angry words were of daily occurrence until at last matters grew worse and they were completely alienated.
It was now that Hubert Tracy proved himself a benefactor. He remitted money and strove to give the unhappy woman all the sympathy she desired.
At times Mrs. Arnold's temper became ungovernable and as each annoyance crowded upon her with redoubled force it was anything but agreeable to listen to the frequent outbursts of uncontrollable anger or to look upon a face made hideous by those degrading exhibitions of a coarse and corrupt nature.
Let us now take a look at this fashionable woman as she is vainly trying to while away what appears to be a tedious morning.
Mrs. Arnold has removed to another suite of apartments and the change bears heavily upon her.
With an air of disgust she surveys the plainly furnished parlor and taking up a third class novel of the highly sensational type throws herself upon the chintz-covered lounge and gives way to a series of hysterical sobs more expressive of anger than grief.
The once large lustrous orbs have lost much of their brightness and the oval cheeks have lost their beauty of outline, while the rich crimson hue has given place to a sickly yellow. Even the toilette of the proud beauty bears traces of neglect. The rich and elegant dressing gown of cashmere and velvet had been converted into money and a dowdy-looking stuff wrapper supplied its place.
Mrs. Arnold yawned and sighed wearily, then arose to look for some curl papers but finding the effort too much once more sought the lounge and novel.
The sorrows of the heroine pleased her. "Misery likes company," as the adage goes and Mrs. Arnold formed no exception.