South Africa loved her. Johannesburg, Durban, Bloemfontein, Cape Town – it was impossible to keep the crowds away, even with policemen well-schooled in the art of mob control. Her progress up Adderley Street in Cape Town rivalled the visit of the Royal Family. She was given the freedom of Johannesburg, a Zulu shield and spear in Durban, and a walking stick decorated with pure white beads in Pretoria. In the Orange Free State she was taken down a gold mine, and photographed holding a gold ingot, with the foreseeable caption: ‘Golden Girl’.

When she patted a half-naked negro child in one of the Transvaal locations, hundreds of native women burst into chanting praise of what seemed to them a spectacular exhibition of humanity.

“What held you up?” asked a reporter in Johannesburg. “We were expecting you three months ago.”

“We had to delay our start,” answered Mrs Bannister. “Esther overtaxed her strength in London.”

Canada loved her. Quebec, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto – wherever she appeared, she was greeted as though she brought a long-awaited message from another world. In Quebec, six thousand French-Canadian children acclaimed her with songs round a camp fire. In Toronto, the Maple Leaf Tapalongs staged a picnic excursion to Lake Ontario, with fireworks, which brought in nearly eleven thousand dollars. She was made an honorary member of the premier ice hockey team, and photographed with four red-tuniced Mounted Police under the heading: ‘Mounties Get Their Girl’. In Montreal, an overzealous Canadian patriot who called her ‘an American brat’ was almost lynched by the crowd.

America loved her for coming back to them again. Chicago, Cleveland, Washington, New York – it was a triumphal progress, ecstatic, warm-hearted, as if they had to make up to her for her nine months’ exile among the barbarians. Even Jack Lett, who had always been worried about the long time spent abroad, had no complaints about their welcome. The Chicago branch of the club (Windy City Tapalongs) greeted her at the US–Canadian border with a mile-long torchlight procession which gave the police and the fire department a completely sleepless night. She was presented with a miniature churn made entirely of butter – there had been some talk of how sorely she had missed this commodity in England. Washington (prompted by Jack Lett) planned to give her the millionth flask of Esther Costello Healing Oil, at a presentation ceremony under the shadow of the Capitol.

Harry Grant of the Boston Star-Telegram met them at Washington airport.

“Expected you a lot earlier,” he said, smiling at Mrs Bannister as he shook her hand. “You were a long time in England – they said you almost went into hiding. Is there a story there?”

“Not a paragraph,” said Mrs Bannister decisively. “Esther just had to rest before the world tour …” She looked up at him: it was fine to see his tall, rangy, unexpected figure, after all the strange places and the thousands of miles of travelling. “But what are you doing in Washington?”