“Unusual?” Mrs. Lurie who rarely smoked, lighted a cigarette to gain time before replying. Her face clouded as though she resented Karl’s being introduced into a conversation that concerned only themselves.
“Yes,” she said at last in a quiet, judicious voice, “remarkably dependable. I think you can feel proud, considering how young you are, that Karl has chosen to make you his friend.”
Judy’s face darkened. She resented the calm, dispassionate voice of her mother, her ignorant appraisal of how much Karl meant to her.
She answered heatedly, “Friend! Suppose I was to tell you that I love Karl!”
Minna put down her cigarette. “You’ll be in and out of what you call love a dozen times before you’re much older,” she spoke calmly, but was now thoroughly roused. “What can you know about love or speak of love at your age?” she added more sharply.
“Why not?” Judy asked bristling. “Grandpa was in love with Grandma when he was eighteen and she was only fifteen and they’ve been happy all their—”
“Things were different in those days,” her mother interrupted. “Women had no careers or rarely did. Because your grandmother married so young, she never went beyond her freshman year at college. You certainly want to go to college!”
“Did I ever say I wasn’t going to college? I intend to go, although I’ve heard you say dozens of times that Grandma is better read and better informed than most college graduates you knew. And what about Abe Lincoln?” she hurried on. “What schooling did he have and everyone knows that his speeches are considered—”
“Look, Judy, what are we arguing about?” Mrs. Lurie said wearily. “I’m only saying that you are too young to think of Karl or anyone else seriously. You’re only fifteen!”
“I’m practically sixteen—or will be in a few months.”