She spent Sundays skiing with Paul and usually stayed at the gate house for the evening meal.
"Flip, have you ever seen the others ski?" Paul asked her.
"No. Sometimes on walks we pass the beginners and you can see them from the windows of the gym. But the others usually take the train up to San Loup and I haven't seen them."
"Then you don't really know what you're up against?"
"No."
"So you can't really tell how you'll stand the day of the ski meet."
"No."
"Well—" Paul threw out his arms and pushed back his chair. "There's no use worrying about it. Aunt Colette said you should definitely sign up with the intermediates and she certainly ought to know."
There was a letter one day from her father. "I'm sketching at the hostel where your Madame Perceval is teaching," he wrote. "She's doing amazing work with the children here and they all adore her. She speaks affectionately of you and sends you her regards."
And Paul told her, "My father had a letter from Aunt Colette. She's met your father."