Of course, thought Mrs Bannister, it was a kind of dishonesty, if you looked at it one way, since these reactions of Esther’s always appeared spontaneous, always charmed the audience to distraction. It was immoral, too, on a different plane; it meant treating Esther like a circus animal, showing off her tricks, putting her through the hoop while the crowd gaped. And sometimes Mrs Bannister improved on things of her own accord, making up what Esther was supposed to have said, in answer to questions, or ‘translating’ her remarks to suit a particular audience or a particular moment of emotion. Very often, this was the only way a meeting could be properly controlled. People soon got bored, if things started dragging or questions were left in the air.

It didn’t matter much, this ‘presentation’, anyway. In fact, it didn’t matter at all. Basically, the thing was on the level. She could talk to Esther, and be answered by her; the rest was simply a variation on their joint talents. It gave the audience what they wanted, what their goodwill and their support deserved.

The end result, in any case, justified all this, since the end result was money: money for the helpless. If one thought of that all the time, a little manipulation need not trouble one’s conscience. Indeed, if Esther couldn’t think of a good answer on the spur of the moment, then it was Mrs Bannister’s plain duty to think of one for her, and so save the occasion. Who was hurt by that? It was all in a good cause. It was all for the needy.

It had worked well tonight, anyway. The takings had been fine – hall full, good collection, plenty of promises for the future. She hoped that the man who had guaranteed five hundred dollars would come across with it tomorrow. Sometimes they didn’t live up to their undertakings – which was a pretty mean trick: not much better than stealing from the blind.

There was a ring at the apartment door.

Mrs Bannister stirred and sat up, not perturbed. It was probably Harry Grant – he was still a very good friend to them, and often when they had a meeting in Boston he came along to it, and then stopped by on his way home from the Star-Telegram. She was always glad to see him. She and Esther both owed a lot to Harry Grant.

But when she opened the front door, she found it was her husband.

Captain Charles Bannister … Mrs Bannister was conscious of a slightly sick feeling as she saw him standing there – the small, elegant, soldierly man whom she had not seen for over ten years. A cursory glance told her that he had worn well – and that was somehow not reassuring, either.

She said: “Charles … What the hell do you want here?”

“Well, Belle, old thing …” The bold eyes and the gin-croak voice were unaltered, too. “Just came round to look you up. Aren’t you going to ask me in?”