As soon as they had gone far enough, Ursula said, her cheeks burning,

‘I do think she’s impudent.’

‘Who, Hermione Roddice?’ asked Gudrun. ‘Why?’

‘The way she treats one—impudence!’

‘Why, Ursula, what did you notice that was so impudent?’ asked Gudrun rather coldly.

‘Her whole manner. Oh, It’s impossible, the way she tries to bully one. Pure bullying. She’s an impudent woman. “You’ll come and see me,” as if we should be falling over ourselves for the privilege.’

‘I can’t understand, Ursula, what you are so much put out about,’ said Gudrun, in some exasperation. ‘One knows those women are impudent—these free women who have emancipated themselves from the aristocracy.’

‘But it is so UNNECESSARY—so vulgar,’ cried Ursula.

‘No, I don’t see it. And if I did—pour moi, elle n’existe pas. I don’t grant her the power to be impudent to me.’

‘Do you think she likes you?’ asked Ursula.

‘Well, no, I shouldn’t think she did.’

‘Then why does she ask you to go to Breadalby and stay with her?’

Gudrun lifted her shoulders in a low shrug.

‘After all, she’s got the sense to know we’re not just the ordinary run,’ said Gudrun. ‘Whatever she is, she’s not a fool. And I’d rather have somebody I detested, than the ordinary woman who keeps to her own set. Hermione Roddice does risk herself in some respects.’

Ursula pondered this for a time.

‘I doubt it,’ she replied. ‘Really she risks nothing. I suppose we ought to admire her for knowing she CAN invite us—school teachers—and risk nothing.’

‘Precisely!’ said Gudrun. ‘Think of the myriads of women that daren’t do it. She makes the most of her privileges—that’s something. I suppose, really, we should do the same, in her place.’

‘No,’ said Ursula. ‘No. It would bore me. I couldn’t spend my time playing her games. It’s infra dig.’

The two sisters were like a pair of scissors, snipping off everything that came athwart them; or like a knife and a whetstone, the one sharpened against the other.

‘Of course,’ cried Ursula suddenly, ‘she ought to thank her stars if we will go and see her. You are perfectly beautiful, a thousand times more beautiful than ever she is or was, and to my thinking, a thousand times more beautifully dressed, for she never looks fresh and natural, like a flower, always old, thought–out; and we ARE more intelligent than most people.’

‘Undoubtedly!’ said Gudrun.

‘And it ought to be admitted, simply,’ said Ursula.

‘Certainly it ought,’ said Gudrun. ‘But you’ll find that the really chic thing is to be so absolutely ordinary, so perfectly commonplace and like the person in the street, that you really are a masterpiece of humanity, not the person in the street actually, but the artistic creation of her—’