It was an insolent note. She would ignore such a command. She would put a notice up on her door: Engaged—and turn the key; and when the woman came she would just have to go away again.
But at six o’clock Geraldine knocked loudly and she cried: ‘Come in.’ They stood facing each other.
‘Sit down,’ said Judith. But neither of them made any movement.
‘I wanted to see you.’ Her voice was low and emotional—angry perhaps; and Judith had a moment’s fainting sense of impotence. The woman was so magnificent, so mature and well-dressed; if there was to be a fight, what chance was there for a thin young student in a woollen jumper?
She leaned against the mantelpiece and, staring at Judith, flung at her:
‘What’s all this about?’
Judith sat down again, without a word, and waited, steadily holding the green eyes with her own. She heard the blood beat deafeningly in her ears.
Geraldine went on:
‘I think it’s the damnedest bit of impertinence I ever heard. Schoolgirls! My God!’ She flung her head back theatrically.
Judith thought, with a shudder of excitement and anguish: ‘Wait, wait. It is because you are unused to it that it seems like physical blows. Soon you will be able to collect yourself. This is anger and you are the cause. You are being insulted and called to account for the first time in your life. Carry it off. Carry it off.’