Both of them were guests at the same party; she’d seen the lady with the I-don’t-want-to-speak-to-you face on several occasions before, here and there; once, sitting on adjacent chairs, she’d even smiled and tried to engage her in small-talk but had met with nothing more than a desinterested grunt.
They walked towards each other in the hall of their host’s house. She’d seen the lady's approach and, fearing that they might have to touch elbows in the crowded, narrow corridor, she composed her features to give the impression of absent-minded preoccupation. From the corner of her eye, she saw a half-hearted twitch on the lady’s face, possibly the beginnings of a smile, which she succeeded in missing completely.
Afterwards, she had a vague feeling of having been mean, but it had felt good at the time.