The warships drew past, casting a curious effect of discipline and sadness upon the
waters, and it was not until they were again invisible that people spoke to each other
naturally. At lunch the talk was all of valour and death, and the magnificent qualities of
British admirals. Clarissa quoted one poet, Willoughby quoted another. Life on board a
man-of-war was splendid, so they agreed, and sailors, whenever one met them, were
quite especially nice and simple.
This being so, no one liked it when Helen remarked that it seemed to her as wrong to
keep sailors as to keep a Zoo, and that as for dying on a battle-field, surely it was time we
ceased to praise courage--"or to write bad poetry about it," snarled Pepper.
But Helen was really wondering why Rachel, sitting silent, looked so queer and flushed.
