After Charlie had left the office, Mma Ramotswe fiddled for a moment with a small pile of papers on her desk. She looked across the room at Mma Makutsi, who was studiously avoiding looking at her, and was paging through her shorthand notebook as if it contained some important hidden secret. “Mma Makutsi,” she said, “I really need to talk to you.”

Mma Makutsi continued to leaf through the notebook. “I am here,” she said. “I am listening, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe felt her heart beating within her. I am not very good at this sort of thing, she told herself. “That young man,” she said, “is just the same as any young man. He has his dreams, as we all did when we were his age. Even you, Mma Makutsi. Even you. You went to the Botswana Secretarial College—you sacrificed so much for that—your people up in Bobonong sacrificed too. You wanted to make something of yourself, and you did.” She paused. Mma Makutsi was sitting quite still, no longer looking through the notebook, which she had laid down on the desk.

“Now everything has turned out well for you,” Mma Ramotswe went on. “You have your house. You have that fiancé of yours. You will have money when you marry him. But don’t forget that there are many others who still don’t have what you now have. Don’t forget that.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” Mma Makutsi interjected. “I was merely pointing out what is very clear, Mma. That boy’s business will fail because he is no good. Anybody can see that he is no good.”

“No!” said Mma Ramotswe firmly. “You cannot say that he is no good! You cannot say that.”

“Yes, I can,” said Mma Makutsi. “I can say that because it’s the truth, Mma. Your trouble…” She paused. “Your trouble, Mma, is that you’re too kind. You let those boys get away with all sorts of things just because you’re too kind. Well, I’m a realist. I see things as they really are.”

“Oh,” said Mma Ramotswe. And then she said again, “Oh.”

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “And now, Mma, I shall resign. I do not have to work here and I have decided that it is time to resign. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I hope that you find the filing system is easy to use. You will find everything in the right place when I am gone.”

And with that she rose to her feet and began to walk to the door. She stopped, though, and returned to her desk, where she opened a drawer and began to survey its contents. Mma Ramotswe noticed that she was wearing new shoes: burgundy suede shoes with bows on the toe caps. They were not the shoes of a modest person, she thought. They were…and then the description came to her. They were resignation shoes.