Mma Ramotswe reached out and put a hand on her knee. “I did not want you to go. I was worried that it would come to nothing. I wasn’t at all sure about that doctor.”

“He tried,” said Motholeli. “And the people in Johannesburg tried too. They had all sorts of machines. But then they said that they could not do anything. I heard them. They said it to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, but I overheard them. And he was crying.”

“Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was crying?”

“Yes. He was.” She finished her examination of her nails and began to wind down the car window. “I don’t want anybody to cry for me. There is no need. I am happy. I will carry on being happy.”

A small boy on a bicycle had now arrived at the front gate. He dismounted with grave caution; the bicycle, gleaming in the morning sunlight, was brand-new.

“Look at him,” said Motholeli. “He is very proud of his bicycle.”

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He is proud.” She turned to Motholeli. “And I am proud too, Motholeli. I am a very, very proud lady.”

WHEN SHE RETURNED to Zebra Drive, she found Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni still sitting at the kitchen table, the breakfast plates all about him. He had the air of a man who had been defeated over something, who had been proved wrong.

“So,” she said. “That is over.”

He did not look at her, but traced a pattern on the tablecloth with a finger. “I’m sorry, Mma,” he said. “You were right. I should not have believed those people. And I still have to pay them. I have taken a loan. It is very bad.”

She looked at him, this man whose generous heart she had never doubted once, not once, in all the time she had known him; this man who had become her husband and of whom she was so proud.

“No, there is no need for a loan,” she said gently. “I have sold cattle. There is easily enough money.”

“I cannot…”

“You can. She is my child too.”

He raised his head; there was so much in his eyes, she thought: disappointment, embarrassment, regret—and tiredness too. “I was stupid to believe that a miracle might be possible. I was so foolish.”

Mma Ramotswe sat down at the table and took his hand. “It is not at all foolish to hope for miracles,” she said. “No, it is not foolish, Rra. Not foolish at all. There are many miracles.”