Ronar's attention wandered. So did that of a good part of the audience. His ears picked up another conversation, this time whispered between a man and a woman in the front row.
The man said, "I should have put your name on it, instead of mine."
"That would have been silly. All my friends know that I can't bake. And it would look so strange if I won."
"It'll look stranger if I win. I can imagine what the boys in the shop will say."
"Oh, the boys in the shop are stupid. What's so unmanly in being able to cook and bake?"
"I'm not anxious for the news to get around."
"Some of the best chefs have been men."
"I'm not a chef."
"Stop worrying." There was exasperation in the force of her whisper. "You won't win anyway."
"I don't know. Sheila—"