He went across to her, stood beside her at the piano, and put his hand on her bare shoulder. "Thanks," he added, "for not asking the obvious question."
"What obvious question?"
"How many Wrens," he went on, — with a kind of fierce and shaky cheerfulness, "how many Wrens, at a time like that, must have said, 'Oh, just call me Jenny.' Jenny! Jenny! I know it So do several of my friends, who think it's funny. But it's not funny. That's the trouble."
Ruth reached up and disengaged his hand from her shoulder; rather quickly, he thought She did not admit or deny that she had thought of asking any such question. She looked straight ahead, unseeingly, at the music on the piano-rack.
"What did you think," she asked, "of our friend tonight?"
"Stannard?" Martin Drake's face clouded. "Stannard's a damn good fellow. I'm sorry I called him pompous. Nerves. If he can really get permission to spend the night in the execution shed at that prison…"
"If you two go there," Ruth interrupted quickly, "I'm going too. Did you notice that Mr. Stannard seemed rather-embarrassed?"
Drake was startled.
"The Great Defender? Embarrassed? Why?"
"Oh, no reason," said Ruth, with a lift of her head that-made the soft brown hair gleam. "No reason! No reason at all!"