The Mistress kept an eye on him to make sure he did everything right, but she did not scold him when he made a mistake. She waited for him to own up and then gave him a rueful smile and sometimes tutted softly. She let him sit nearby when his most urgent chores were done, and occasionally she spoke to him, just chatting about the rise in the price of flour, or how scarce vanilla pods were this year, or how she preferred to cook with charcoal but it made such a mess of the walls that she had learned to use an electric oven and now only used charcoal in the yard. Once, out of a reverie, she said, The Blue Mosque, isn't it beautiful? I hope you'll see it for real one day. I don't think I will. She spoke about these things without strain or emphasis, talking in her usual leisurely way. He listened without asking questions, and at times she paused and looked at him, learning him. In the early afternoon, after Bwana Haji had gone back to work and Uncle Othman had gone for his customary rest, she smoked a cigarette - she only smoked one a day out in the yard - and afterwards went upstairs to lie down and read her magazines or watch television.