Mma Ramotswe knew that this was just a minor inconvenience; fresh supplies of tea could easily be obtained, but this could not be done in time for morning tea—unless she left the office and drove to the supermarket. If only Mma Makutsi had told her earlier on that they were down to the last bag, then she could have done this before ten o’clock. She wondered if she should say something about this to Mma Makutsi, but decided that she would not. She was still concerned that Mma Makutsi might suddenly revisit her decision to resign, and an argument over tea was exactly the sort of issue to precipitate that.

“It is my fault,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I should have checked to see if we needed new tea. It is my fault, Mma.”

Mma Makutsi peered into the tin again. “No,” she said. “I think it is my fault, Mma. I should have pointed out to you earlier on that we were down to the last bag. That is where I failed.”

Mma Ramotswe made a placatory gesture with her hand. “Oh no, Mma. Anybody can make that sort of mistake. One can be thinking of something else altogether and not notice that the tea is getting low. That has happened many times before.”

“Here?” asked Mma Makutsi. “Are you saying that it has happened here? That I have forgotten many times before?”

“No,” said Mma Ramotswe hurriedly. “Not you. I’m just saying that it has happened elsewhere. Everybody makes that sort of mistake. It is easily done. I cannot remember a single time when you have done this before. Not one single time.”

This seemed to satisfy Mma Makutsi. “Good. But what are we going to do now? Will you have ordinary tea, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe felt that she had no alternative. “If there is no bush tea, then I cannot very well sit here and not drink any tea. It would be better to drink a cup of ordinary tea rather than to have no tea to drink.”

It was at this point that Mr. Polopetsi came in. Greeting Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi politely, he made his way to the tea-pot which Mma Makutsi had placed on top of the filing cabinet. He was about to reach for the pot to pour his tea but stopped. “Only one tea-pot,” he said, looking at Mma Makutsi. “Is this bush tea or ordinary tea?”

“Ordinary,” Mma Makutsi muttered.

He looked surprised. “Where is the bush tea, Mma?”

Mma Makutsi, who had been looking away, turned and faced him. “What is it to you, Rra? You drink ordinary tea, do you not? The pot is full of that. Go on, pour. There is plenty there.”

Mr. Polopetsi, a mild man—even milder than Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni—was not one to argue with Mma Makutsi. He said nothing as he picked up the pot and began to pour. Mma Ramotswe, though, had been watching.