“Violet,” said Mma Makutsi. “It is good to see you again.”

Violet smiled, closed her powder compact, and leant back against the edge of the basin. She had the air of one who was settling in for a long chat.

“Yes, sure,” she said. “I haven’t seen you for ages. Ages. Not since we finished the course.” She paused, looking Mma Makutsi up and down, as if appraising her dress. “You did well, didn’t you? At that college, I mean.”

The thrust of the comment was unambiguous. One might do well at college, but this was very different from the real world. And then there was the disdainful reference to that college, as if there were better secretarial colleges to be attended.

Mma Makutsi ignored the barb. “And you, Violet? What have you been doing? Did you manage to find a job?”

The implication in this remark was that those who got barely fifty per cent in the final examinations might be expected to experience some difficulty in finding a job. This was not lost on Violet, whose eyes narrowed.

“Find a job?” she retorted. “Mma, I had them lining up to give me a job! I had so many offers that I could think of no way of choosing between them. So you know what I did? You want to know?”

Mma Makutsi nodded. She wanted to be out of this room, and away from this person, but she realised that she had to remain. She would have to stand up for herself if she were not to feel completely belittled by the encounter.

“I looked at the men who were offering the jobs and I chose the best-looking one,” she announced. “I knew that that was how they would choose their secretary, so I applied the same rule to them! Hah!”

Mma Makutsi said nothing. She could comment on the stupidity of this, but then that would enable Violet to say something like, “Well that may be stupid in your eyes, but look at the jobs I got.” So she said nothing, and held the other woman’s challenging glance.

Violet lowered her eyes and inspected her brightly polished nails. “Nice shoes,” she said. “Those green shoes of yours. I’ve never seen anybody wear green shoes before. It’s brave of you. I would be frightened that people would laugh at me if I wore shoes like that.”

Mma Makutsi bit her lip. What was wrong with green shoes? And how dare this woman, this empty-headed woman, pass comment on her taste in shoes? She looked at Violet’s shoes, sleek black shoes with pointed toes and quite unsuitable for dancing. They looked expensive—much more expensive than these shoes which Mma Makutsi had treated herself to and of which she felt so proud.