Phuti Radiphuti looked puzzled. Waltzes were waltzes, of course; that was just what they were. He could not answer her question, and instead concentrated on doing the steps correctly, which was difficult for him. One, two, together is what Mr Fanope had said; or had he said that they should count three before they did the side-step?

Sensing her partner’s confusion, Mma Makutsi took control. Drawing him to the side of the floor, she showed him how the steps were to be executed and made him repeat them himself while she watched. From the corner of her eye she noticed that the woman she had seen at the first lesson, the one whose name she had forgotten, was watching her in a bemused fashion from the other side of the room. That woman was dancing with the same elegant man who had partnered her before, and she waved at Mma Makutsi over her shoulder as she spun round in his expert arms.

Mma Makutsi pursed her lips. She was determined not to feel put down by this woman with her showy dress and her condescending manner. She knew what she would think of her, that she would be thinking: there’s poor Grace Makutsi, who never managed to get any man to pay attention to her, and look what she’s landed herself with now! Life has passed her by, of course, in spite of the fact that she graduated top of our class. It’s no good getting ninety-whatever per cent if you end up like that.

It did not help to imagine what that woman would be thinking; it would be far better to ignore her, or, better still, to remind herself that it was the other woman who deserved the pity. After all, what did she have in life? She would have no career, that woman, only a life of running around with men. And the problem with that is that as you get older it becomes harder and harder to interest men. There would be a new generation of young women then, women with young faces and flashing teeth, while all the time one’s own face sagged with age and one’s teeth seemed to get a little less white.

Over the next half hour, they danced in almost complete silence. Mma Makutsi had to acknowledge that Phuti Radiphuti was making an effort and seemed to be improving slightly. He trod on her toes less frequently now, and he seemed to be making some progress with keeping in time. She complimented him on this, and he smiled appreciatively.

“I think I’m getting better,” he stuttered.

“We must take a break,” said Mma Makutsi. “I’m very thirsty after all this dancing.”

They left the dance room and made their way down the corridor and onto the hotel verandah. A waiter appeared and took their orders: a cold beer for Phuti Radiphuti and a large glass of orange juice for Mma Makutsi.