“But aren’t you glad?” asked Esther uncomfortably. “I know it was a terrible thing that it should happen that way” – she blushed vividly, and shivered at the same time – “but it means – it means everything to me.”

“Of course, darling!” Swiftly Mrs Bannister reassured her. “It’s everything to me, too. But you can see what a difference it will make, as soon as we tell people.”

“Don’t they know already?” asked Esther. “Haven’t you told anybody?”

“No,” said Mrs Bannister. “I’ve been ashamed to.”

“You mean” – Esther felt herself flushing again – “because of – of your husband?”

“Oh, no!” answered Mrs Bannister. Her hands were busy again. “He doesn’t matter. It’s you I worry about.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s such a terrible thing to have to tell people, about any girl. I’ve wanted to keep it a secret.”

“But it wasn’t my fault,” said Esther, now somewhere near weeping.

“Of course. We know that. But it’s not an easy thing to convince people about, honey. You know what they always think – and say … If only we didn’t have to tell anything about it. But never mind!” she ended brightly. “We’ll find some way of fixing it.”

That was the first of many such talks: some ended on a hopeful note, some in tears, some near to open disapproval. Mrs Bannister, forecasting the future for Esther’s benefit, set out, step by step and mood by mood, to produce as many different ideas as possible, and to ring the changes on them with remorseless skill. There were many sections to this varied tapestry, many subtle contrasts of light and shade. There was the loss to the blind, the loss to Jack Lett, the loss to herself – and above all, the shame of confession. Without doubt, Mrs Bannister had promising material to work on. Esther was a young and simple girl, just emerging into the normal world for the first time, in circumstances of the utmost horror: she had been totally dependent on Mrs Bannister – dependent for sight, sound, and voice – for years on end; she loved this strong woman who now seemed so unhappy … Sometimes Esther could hardly bear to watch her distress, so deep and abiding was her gratitude for the past, so lively her sense of obligation.

Mrs Bannister and Jack Lett were very close to one another. Indeed, on many occasions they were in a position to talk in intimate darkness.

“I think she’s coming round to it, Jack. Something tells me it’s going to be OK.”

“It’s still the trickiest thing I ever heard of, Belle. Even if she does agree to it, she’ll have to learn the whole routine over again. And make it look as convincing as it used to be.”

“She’ll do that …”

“Suppose there’s some slip-up?”

“There’ll be no slip-up … As soon as Esther agrees, we’ll really go into training.”

“You must have been doing some fast talking.”

“Yes. And it had better be left to me, from now on. I know all the angles, and she’s very fond of me.”