Jenna faced her husband. "I kissed him," she said simply. "I did it as any mother would kiss a little boy—because he needed kissing. Not because—"
"Forget it," said Ralph. "Did you know what Garrard was thinking?"
"Tom told me."
"Nice reward," sneered Ralph, facing Lacy.
Lacy dropped his eyes, bitterly.
Jack Grant looked up. "Listen, Lindsay, you're off beam so far—"
"You keep out of this," snarled Lindsay, stepping forward.
"I'm not staying out of it. It happens to be some of my business, too. Lacy, this may hurt, but it needs explaining. Lindsay, I'm not a soft-hearted bird. I'm not even soft-headed. But if any man ever needed the affection of a woman, Tom Lacy does, did, and will. And if I had mother, wife, or sister that refused to try to straighten Lacy out, I'd cut her throat! I've made a lot of crude jokes about the fact that she married you because of your money or friends, but they were just crude jokes that I'd not have made if she hadn't been so completely Mrs. Ralph Lindsay that mere mention of anything else was funny. And you can scream or you can laugh about it, but whatever she did down in the galley, I say, makes a better woman of her!" Then Grant smiled queerly and turned to Lacy. "You lucky dog," he grinned. "She never tried to kiss me!"
Ralph Lindsay sat down wearily. "Was that it, Jenna?"
She nodded; unable to speak.