THREE DAYS LATER, with everything back to normal after the Maun trip, they were sitting in the office when Mma Ramotswe noticed that it was time, as it so often seemed to be, for morning tea. Mma Makutsi put on the kettle, her accustomed task, and lined up the two teapots at the ready.

“Be sure to use the big one for the ordinary tea,” said Mma Ramotswe from the other side of the room. “That would be best.”

Mma Makutsi hesitated. “But it is the one you have always used,” she ventured. “I do not want to change things …”

Mma Ramotswe was insistent. “No, Mma. We have already discussed this. I am happy with that small teapot for my red bush tea. I am happy to change.”

The words I am happy to change made Mma Makutsi think. What Mma Ramotswe said about herself was probably true: when change came along, she often seemed to welcome it, or at least accept it. There were many people who did not—who harped on about the past and how things used to be, who never understood that some things have to be different as time passes. Mma Ramotswe was not one of these … Mma Makutsi stopped. No, perhaps she was. She always said that the old Botswana morality should not be changed; she always went for midmorning tea at the President Hotel on Saturdays and did not want that changed; and she had been very reluctant indeed to change her van. And yet, there were many novel things that Mma Ramotswe seemed to accept. Perhaps she was a mixture, as most of us were; we accepted some changes—changes we liked—and resisted others—changes we did not like. Yes, that must be it.

She made the tea as her employer instructed. That was a good thing, as that morning not only did Mr. Polopetsi come in with his mug ready for filling, but also Charlie and Fanwell, and, last of all, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. He did not linger, but poured himself a large cup and then returned to the garage, where there was a tricky repair being made to an important car. And as well as the entire staff, there was a visitor who wanted tea that morning: Mma Potokwane. She arrived just as Charlie and Fanwell were draining the last drops from their mugs, and caused their rapid departure. Even Charlie, who held few people in awe, was wary of Mma Potokwane, who seemed to remind him of all that was most powerful and daunting in Botswana womanhood.