When she was indoors again, she pulled off her tam-o’-shanter and stuffed it once more into the pocket of her serge skirt. Then she went upstairs to the room at the top of the house that she shared with Geraldine.
“I wish you’d knock.”
“Whatever for? It’s my room as much as yours, isn’t it?” Elsie said without acrimony.
“Have you been washing up all this time?”
“Nellie went off early.”
“The slut! Whatever for? Did you tell mother?”
“No. It wouldn’t be a bit of good. She won’t say anything to Nellie just now, whatever she does, with these new people just coming in.”
“Oh, my head!” groaned Geraldine, not attending.
She lay on her bed, her white blouse crumpled, and a machine-made knitted coat, of shrimp-pink wool, drawn untidily over her shoulders. Her black Oxford shoes lay on the mat between the two beds, and her black stockings showed long darns and a hole in either heel.
Elsie began to arrange her hair before the looking-glass in a painted deal frame that stood on the deal chest-of-drawers. Presently she pulled a little paper bag from one of the drawers and began to suck sweets.