All was in darkness, save for another glass-framed door which he knew to be the entrance to Esther’s bedroom, at the far end of the platform. He inched his way along the railed space, giddy with the height and the black void beneath him, and peered round the edge of the lighted door.

He saw Esther immediately. She was sitting in an armchair, half-turned towards him, reading. Her eyes, of course, were open, and attentive to the printed page. The book in her hands was a normal edition of The Robe.

It seemed to Grant that he would shame them both if he delayed in watching her. With love and pity in his curled knuckles, he tapped on the glass of the door and, turning the handle, stepped within her room.

At the sound of the opening door Esther had raised her head slightly, though not enough to meet his eyes: now she froze, going through a routine which was horrible and moving at the same time. Harry Grant had never seen a person become blind and deaf before, but this was what Esther did: immensely wary, like an animal alerted by a sudden noise, she seemed to retreat within her own body, drawing over herself a hood of impotence. The book dropped to her lap; her head took on a wooden fixity, and her eyes the cloudy film of night. She was no longer a lovely girl, reading a book in a warm room. She was Esther Costello.

Harry Grant, seeing her thus forfeit all her life at one glacial stroke, found himself trembling, with fear and shame. What had they done to her, that she could have come to accept such imprisonment?

He took a pace forward, standing above her chair, and said: “It’s all right, Esther – I know.”

She did not stir. He had not thought that she would, at one single sentence from himself: the armour of her pretence was now too much a part of her. He leant over, and touched her arm above the elbow. He had feared that she would carry the fraud another step, and produce a sudden stagey start. But she did not move at all.

It was enough for him: it told him that she had given up. He said again: “It’s all right, Esther. Jack Lett talked. I know.”

Esther raised her head slowly. As she did so, she seemed to melt back into womanhood again: her eyes, focusing honestly on his for the very first time, had a depth and grace that went straight to his heart, and her whole face was lit with yielding tenderness.

She said: “Thank God, Harry,” and, rising, went directly into his arms.

Everything was to be for the first time. It was the first time he had heard her natural voice, which was low and gentle; it was the first time he had touched her body, which was a young delight. Holding her close, feeling her tremble and then cease to tremble, waiting for her to raise her lips to his, he had only one single, thankful thought.