She had even ventured beyond the confines of the town itself and paid her own visit to the Tent, before her official attendance at a concert. How inadequate had been Fran’s “Very pretty!” It was stunning. The sunshine filtering through the open flap bathed the colored sides of the tent and supports in luscious gold.
Not more than a few hundred yards from the Tent was a queer-looking building of octagonal design. Approaching it, she asked one of the bystanders, “What do they do in there?”
“Lectures,” was the terse reply. “It’s the Seminar Building. But don’t try to listen in on them,” he said, apparently amused at the expression on Judy’s keen and inquisitive face.
“I see you’ve got a sketch pad,” he went on. “If you are interested in art, you’ll find the walls lined with paintings—American subjects—very fine.” and with a nod, he was gone.
She went in and remained, examining the paintings long after the students and visitors left.
One day she got up enough courage to go into the Jerome Hotel. Assuming an air of confidence, which she was far from feeling, she followed some ladies entering the lobby and doggedly kept at their heels until they reached the pool.
How blue it looked under the dazzling sun! As fresh and cool as the forests on Aspen Mountain not far in the distance! Guests sat on the lawn beside the pool, their sunburnt bodies shaded by bright, colored umbrellas. They were laughing, talking, eating.... Shouts from the pool. She felt so alone. It was not the first time she recalled her grandmother’s words.
Monday morning came. Would this be another week of half-kept promises?
At breakfast her mother said brightly, “Judy, I have some news for you. I just heard about a camp and I met the girl who runs it. She’s charming and I took such a fancy to her.”
“A camp? Here in Aspen?” Judy asked, interested, but a little cautious. “What kind of a camp?”