Mrs. Lurie unexpectedly agreed and tactfully informed Mrs. Freiborg they would meet later.
Entering the hotel with her mother, Judy felt considerably more at ease than on her previous visit.
The sunny terrace dotted with tables and gay umbrellas was a lovelier sight too than she remembered. To her surprise everyone seemed to know her mother. Their progress toward the pavilion was a sort of slow triumphal procession. “Come back and sit with us—” “We’ve saved room for you at our table.” Again and again they were stopped and Judy introduced. There followed the kindly inquiries, “And how do you like Aspen, Judy?” And as usual, before the girl could think of a reply, the talk drifted into other channels.
At last they reached the pavilion. Dressed in their bathing suits, they stepped gingerly on the wet, slippery stones of the pool. Instead of the longed-for plunge into the water, Mrs. Lurie suggested they first get a good sunburn. “Besides,” she added mysteriously, “someone’s coming here especially to meet you.”
Judy slumped down on the thick carpet of grass near her mother’s table. She gazed at the water, enchanted by the azure color that was achieved, as she learned later, by the paint on the bottom of the pool.
At an adjoining table, two women were playing Scrabble with fierce concentration, but their absorption in the game didn’t prevent their cross-table conversation with numerous friends.
“How did you like the concert, Minna? I admit there’s no one who can conduct the way Izler Solomon does—”
Judy was left with her own thoughts. She barely noticed her mother leave her seat to meet a young girl coming toward her. But she looked up sharply when she heard her say, “Lynne, I’m so glad you were able to make it. I almost gave up!”
So that was Lynne! Judy watched as they stood talking. She’s pretty, and very young looking, Judy admitted grudgingly. Yes, for once, her parents were right. She was beautiful! Judy admired the slender, graceful figure in the black skin-tight bathing suit. She noticed the coal-black hair and how Lynne wore it in a chignon low on her neck.
Judy saw her mother nodding in her direction. “They’re talking about me. Mother’s probably telling her all my shortcomings and my latest—that I don’t like the idea of going to a camp—that is, her camp. Probably asking her to give me a talking to.” Just as Judy feared, her mother returned to her table and Lynne came directly to where Judy sat scowling.