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.
The lowest gambling dens were now sought, and hour after hour the
man sat side by side with the scum of humanity. His days and nights
were scenes of carousal, his wife was left to her own resources, and
his home utterly desolate.
Evelyn Arnold had written her sister many glowing eulogies of Hubert
Tracy's generosity, yet she did not acknowledge that to him she was
entirely dependent.
Let us not utterly despise this young man.
There was yet a spark of generosity in his nature and a desire to
lend a helping hand to the needy.
As hitherto expressed, with different associations Hubert Tracy
would have been a different man. He began well but had not
sufficient will power to resist the tempter and like many a
promising youth who went out into the world with a mother's prayers
ringing in his ears, stumbled ere he reached the first milestone on
life's chequered road.
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