“Well, Mma Ramotswe. What you have told me is very good news because…well, because I like Kenneth very much. I like him…more than one would normally like a brother. Well, more as one would like a man who might become a husband. Of course I could not think that while he was still my brother, and I thought that he would just be a very good friend. But now…”

“And what about him?”

Mma Sebina looked away. “I think that he will be pleased too, Mma. I think he will be very pleased.”

Mma Ramotswe felt the tension of the meeting ebb away. She had expected it to be painful and instead it had become an occasion of pleasure, of complicity in a future romance.

Mma Sebina now took Mma Ramotswe by the arm and steered her towards the door. “Let us go and try some of that banana bread, Mma,” she said. And then she added: “It’s strange, isn’t it? I consulted you to find me a family, and you went out and found me a husband.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled at this. It seemed a bit premature for Mma Sebina to be thinking in terms of marrying Mr. Sekape, but one thing was very clear: she was a woman with a mission, and in Mma Ramotswe’s view, women with a mission usually achieved it, as many men in Botswana—and elsewhere, she imagined—had found out.

Over the cup of tea and the generous slice of banana bread, Mma Ramotswe tackled the last matter that she knew she had to raise with Mma Sebina. It was simpler, now that the information about the mistake had been so easily dealt with, but it would still require tact.

“There is something else I know, Mma,” she said. “There is something about the reason why you were taken in by Mma Potokwane in the first place. I have found that out and I think that you may want to know it.”

“About my mother?” said Mma Sebina.

“Yes. It is about your mother.”

Mma Sebina lowered her eyes. “Is it something that—” She broke off. Then: “Would it make me feel bad about her?”

Mma Ramotswe thought about this. “It might,” she said. “But if you knew this thing, it would still be possible for you to forgive her.”

“Even though she is late? She is late, isn’t she?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “She is late. But it is still possible to forgive people who are late, you know. It’s important to do that sometimes.”

“Then I forgive her,” said Mma Sebina. “I forgive my mother for…”

“For…”

Mma Sebina raised a hand. “No, please don’t tell me, Mma. I would prefer not to know. And I forgive her whatever it is, even if I do not know.”