It was plain that he was struggling hard to hold himself steady; and Nancy, at a loss to explain the situation, nevertheless found herself sharing his mood.
“I am sorry,” she repeated slowly. “Are you going to leave Quebec?”
“I am going home.”
“There is no trouble there, I hope.”
“No. The trouble is all here.”
Nancy’s mind went swiftly southward to the frisky, boyish days that unfold themselves at Yale.
“At Laval?” she questioned, with a smile.
St. Jacques shook his head.
“What should be the trouble at Laval?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing; unless you have come into collision with a dean or two,” she answered hastily.