When Brant returned to his hotel there was an augmented respect in the
voice of the clerk as he handed him a note with the remark that it had
been left by Senator Boompointer's coachman. He had no difficulty in
recognizing Susy's peculiarly Brobdingnagian school-girl hand.
"Kla'uns, I call it real mean! I believe you just HOPED I wouldn't know
you. If you're a bit like your old self you'll come right off here--this
very night! I've got a big party on--but we can talk somewhere between
the acts! Haven't I growed? Tell me! And my! what a gloomy swell the
young brigadier is! The carriage will come for you--so you have no
excuse."
The effect of this childish note upon Brant was strangely out of
proportion to its triviality. But then it was Susy's very triviality--so
expressive of her characteristic irresponsibility--which had always
affected him at such moments. Again, as at Robles, he felt it react
against his own ethics. Was she not right in her delightful materialism?
Was she not happier than if she had been consistently true to Mrs.
Peyton, to the convent, to the episode of her theatrical career, to Jim
Hooker--even to himself? And did he conscientiously believe that Hooker
or himself had suffered from her inconsistency? No! From all that he
had heard, she was a suitable helpmate to the senator, in her social
attractiveness, her charming ostentations, her engaging vanity
that disarmed suspicion, and her lack of responsibility even in her
partisanship.
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