Mrs. Lurie tried not to show her annoyance. “Judy,” she interrupted. “I made such an effort to get home early. Mrs. Freiborg and her daughter will be here in less than ten minutes. Go in and wash up quickly. I’ve laid out your things on the bed. Brush your hair. We can’t keep them waiting.”
But Judy wasn’t listening. Her face was still glowing as she followed her mother into the house. “I’ve got to tell you something quite wonderful that happened. I met the nicest boy—”
“Boy?” Mrs. Lurie turned to her daughter. “What boy? Where?” There was a perceptible note of sharpness in her voice.
“We ate our lunch together at the Chairlift. He’s a music student and studies the violin.”
“That’s nice, dear,” Mrs. Lurie interrupted, giving Judy an indulgent smile. The boy, thank goodness, wasn’t some nondescript. A music student had an open sesame to Mrs. Lurie’s regard.
“But now, hurry, dear,” she said brightly. “You’ll tell me all about him later.”
“Later, always later,” Judy grumbled to herself, her high spirits dashed for the moment. “You know, it only takes me a few minutes to change.”
“And,” Mrs. Lurie added, following her own train of thought, “please don’t wear that skirt again until I’ve taken inches off the hem. It’s bad enough without trailing your ankles.”
Mrs. Lurie gave a noncommittal grunt as she packed bathing suits and caps into a zippered bag. Judy put on the shorts and blouse without any audible objection and stood near the mirror.
“In this sort of thing you’ll have to admit, Mother, everyone looks alike. But a skirt like my plaid gives one a certain air—personality!”