“Well, Mma,” she began. “Well …”

She paused. It was going to be more difficult than she had imagined. She looked at Mma Ramotswe, who stared back at her expectantly.

“I am looking forward to the tea,” said Mma Ramotswe helpfully.

Mma Makutsi swallowed. “I will not be making bush tea,” she blurted out. “I mean, I will make bush tea for you, as usual, but I want to make my own tea, ordinary tea, in this pot. Just for me. Ordinary tea. You can drink bush tea and I will drink ordi-nary tea.”

After she had finished speaking, there was a complete silence. Mma Ramotswe sat quite still in her chair, her eyes fixed on the china tea-pot. Mma Makutsi, who had been holding the pot up as if it were a battle standard, a standard for the ranks of those who preferred ordinary tea to bush tea, now lowered it and put it down on her desk.

“I’m sorry, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “I’m very sorry. I do not want you to think that I am a rude person. I am not. But I have tried and tried to like bush tea and now I must speak what is in my heart. And my heart says that I have preferred ordinary tea all along. That is why I bought this special tea-pot.”

Mma Ramotswe listened carefully, and then she spoke. “I am the one who should say sorry, Mma. No, it is me. I am the one. I have been the rude person all along. I have never asked you whether you would prefer to drink ordinary tea. I never bothered to ask you, but I have bought bush tea and expected you to like it. I am very sorry, Mma.”

“You have not been rude,” protested Mma Makutsi. “I should have told you. I am the one who is at fault here.”

It was all very complicated. Mma Makutsi had switched from bush tea to ordinary tea some time ago, and then she had gone back to bush tea again. Mma Ramotswe felt confused: What did Mma Makutsi really want when it came to tea?

“No,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You have been very patient with me, drinking all that bush tea just for my sake. I should have seen it. I should have seen it in your face. I did not. I am very sorry, Mma.”

“But I didn’t dislike it all that much,” said Mma Makutsi. “I did not make a face when I drank it. If I had made a face, then you might have noticed it. But I did not. I was happy enough drinking it—it’s just that I shall be even happier when I am drinking ordinary tea.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “Then we shall have different tea,” she said. “Just as we did in the past. I have my tea, and you have yours. That is the solution to this difficult problem.”

“Exactly,” said Mma Makutsi. She thought for a moment. What about Mr J.L.B. Matekoni and the apprentices? They had all been drinking bush tea, but now that there was a choice, should they be offered ordinary tea? And if they were, then would they want to drink it out of her tea-pot? She would not mind sharing her new tea-pot with Mr J.L.B. Matekoni—nobody would mind that—but sharing with the apprentices was another matter altogether.