There was, at the start, every kind of person in that audience – earnest social workers, thrill-seekers, sceptics, bored socialites, cranks from the lunatic fringe, drunks who had wandered in from the cold; but by the time an hour had passed, they were all one kind of person, at the same level of humanity and understanding. They had listened to Mrs Bannister, watched Esther, seen their exchange of words, witnessed their communion; at the end, the leaven had so worked in them that they were all level in their admiration and their wonder.

From that feeling there sprang, as always, a proprietary joy in this lovely child – for here in Boston, she was their own Esther Costello; they were proud of her and Mrs Bannister, and proud of a part of America which could, by love and compassion, produce so amazing a triumph.

When, towards the close, Mrs Bannister introduced the theme: “Give Esther a thank-offering for your own eyesight”, the response was brisk and unhesitating. While the three-piece orchestra played soft music of a coaxing kind, the volunteer helpers – girls who had been recruited during the past months – passed round the collecting boxes; and then, as sometimes happened, individuals in the audience stood up to pledge their support.

Jewellery was passed up to Mrs Bannister; watches and cigarette cases reached the platform: ten-and twenty-dollar bills went from hand to hand until they arrived at the small table in front of Esther. Whenever this happened, Mrs Bannister touched Esther’s arm, and the girl smiled blindly and enchantingly – one warm heart greeting another … A man in the audience called out: “Tell her I’m sending along five hundred dollars in the morning!” and the applause lasted throughout the time that Mrs Bannister was passing the message on to Esther.

At the end of this communication, they saw a fresh smile break over Esther’s face, and after a moment’s pause Mrs Bannister said: “She says: ‘Thank you, and thank God for people like you.’”

This generous interpretation of Esther’s actual reply – “That’s fine” – drew so great a volley of clapping that Mrs Bannister recognized it as a suitable note on which to finish. She stood up, and stretched out her hands. The music died away.

“We both thank you from the bottom of our hearts,” she said quietly and gravely. “For your kindness to us this evening, for your generous help for all blind people … I will tell Esther all about it tomorrow – she is tired tonight, as you can see.”

Esther, responding to a covert touch, sat straight up and smiled, while the audience went “Ah-h-h …” on a low note of understanding and pity. “You can see how brave she is,” said Mrs Bannister, looking down at her fondly. “Good night to all of you.” She leant over, taking Esther’s hand briefly. “And Esther says: ‘Good night, and God bless you every one.’”

The audience rose, applauding to the last: the volunteers made for the exits, rattling their collecting boxes; and at a signal from Mrs Bannister, the orchestra played them out with their farewell number.