“Yes, it was nice, Mother, much nicer than I expected.” Her mother looked disappointed. Her eyes seemed to say, “Is that all?”
“Let’s sit down and rest for a little while?” Mrs. Lurie suggested. Judy pulled up a stool while her mother sank into a chair.
“Then you are glad you came with us?” her mother asked again.
“Of course,” Judy answered quickly, thankful for the interlude in the drudgery of packing and the chance for a talk with her mother. “It was fun,” she went on, her arms hugging her knees, “to be included in everything, or nearly everything you and Father did. I love Aspen and things here are exciting. You just breathe and music seeps in, like some pleasant, contagious disease! I think I’ll go back to my piano—” There was an imperceptible pause. “Now especially, that—”
“I’m so delighted,” her mother broke in, too pleased at this admission to notice her daughter’s emphasis on the “Now especially,” or the revealing smile that accompanied it.
“Father will be as happy as I am—Go on, dear.”
“What more can I tell you? It was because of you and Father that I came to know Lynne and Allen and I love them dearly. They’ve been so wonderful to me. But, Mother,” she paused and said shyly, “don’t you think that—er—er—Karl had something to do with my maturing, as you call it?”
“Karl?” Her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise. “It was very pleasant to have him around.” Noticing her daughter’s reproachful glance, she went on briskly, “He’s a fine boy, hard-working and very talented.”
Judy nodded vigorously, her eyes glowing with pleasure.
“Yes, he’s wonderful, isn’t he? If only you knew him as well as I do! But surely there’s something unusual ... something special you must have noticed—”