“Why, then?”
“Because I am Catholic.”
“Oh, how paltry!” Nancy burst out in hot indignation.
“It is true, however.”
With a sweep of her arm, Nancy pointed to the Union Jack whose scarlet folds stained the sky line.
“Then the sooner they pull that down, the better,” she said scornfully. “I thought that the British flag stood for religious freedom.”
“But you are not Catholic,” St. Jacques said slowly.
“What difference does that make? I am not a Seven-Day Baptist, either. Neither fact makes me ignore the rights of my friends who are.”
St. Jacques still stood looking down at her. His face was unusually grave, that morning; and it seemed to Nancy that his swarthy cheeks were flushed more than it was their wont to be.
“You have friends who are Catholics?” he asked.