But this time, Mrs Bannister remained standing by Esther’s side, and guided her all through the presentation, with an arm around her shoulder. The applause at the end seemed confused – some for the child (who was unconcerned and cooperative), some for Esther, some for Mrs Bannister’s demonstrated care. It was as if the audience itself was becoming unstable, uncertain of what it wanted to happen. That arm round the shoulder retold, in one single gesture, the whole story which had so moved them all, a little earlier. They wanted it to remain where it was. It was their arm, as well as Mrs Bannister’s.

Mrs Bannister stayed with Esther while the fourth child received her prize. Once again, all went smoothly. Then she sat down, leaving Esther standing alone once more.

By mischance, the fifth child was already crying uncontrollably when she reached the platform. She was older than the others – about fourteen, with a pretty, dark face that now looked hopelessly distraught: she must have been living the past few minutes at some special pitch of intensity. When she was within a few yards of Esther, she stopped dead, as if she could walk no farther. There was a look of pain and horror on her face. It was clear that she could not bear to come any closer to the person who had inspired her pitiful tears.

The Mother Superior, frowning, motioned her forward. She shook her head, all the time staring at Esther who was waiting, patiently, book in hand. The two of them stood thus for a full ten seconds. Then suddenly the girl turned, and darted off the platform, and out of the hall, crying loudly as if pursued.

If anything did pursue her, it was the audience’s violent hatred at this betrayal. People like us – so their thoughts seemed to clamour – people with eyes and ears should not fail people like Esther Costello, who have neither of these blessings, and who still make so valiant an effort to play their normal part.

They could not find anything to applaud, at this destroying moment, so they waited in charged silence. They watched Esther fearfully. She still held the book. Someone had to receive it from her.

Mrs Bannister stood up, and with no further word or sign, took the book from Esther’s hands. Esther smiled the smile she had given to the rest of the children. The audience, partners in this public deception, found relief again in anguished applause.

Then the last child, the eldest of all, mounted the steps of the platform as the Mother Superior announced her name. She was nervous – there was no one in the whole room who was not – but she advanced resolutely towards Esther: a tall, slight figure in a white dress, about fifteen years old, walking still with a child’s awkwardness. Reaching Esther, she held out her hand, and touched the book she was to receive. Esther smiled, and released it into her grasp.