“If we don’t have a European war by then,” Oldmeadow suggested. “What is Barney going to do?”
“Oh, Barney is going to the Barclay’s in Scotland, to shoot. He loves that. A war, Roger? What do you mean? All those tiresome Serbians? Why, they won’t go into the Tyrol, will they?”
“Perhaps not the Tyrol; but they may make it difficult for other people to go there.”
“Do you hear what Roger is saying?” Mrs. Chadwick turned to her family. “That the Serbians may make war by September and that it might interfere with the trip. But I’m sure Sir Edward will quiet them. He always does. Though he is a Liberal, I’ve always felt him to be such a good man,” said Mrs. Chadwick, “and really patriotic. Simply sitting round a table with him cools their heads more than one would believe possible. Dreadfully violent people, I believe, killing their kings and queens and throwing them out of the window. I always think there’s nothing in the world for controlling people’s tempers like getting them to sit together round a table. I wonder why it is. Something to do with having your legs out of the way, perhaps. People don’t look nearly so threatening if their legs are hidden, do they? My poor cousin, Fanny Jocelyn, used always to say that if any of the clergymen in Fred’s diocese got very troublesome her one recipe was to ask them to lunch, or, if they were very bad, to dinner. But she had wonderful tact—that gift, you know, for seeming to care simply immensely for the person she was talking to. Francis used to tell her that when she looked at you as if you were the only person in the world she loved she was really working out her next menu.”
“I’m afraid if war comes it won’t be restricted to people, like Serbians and clergymen, who can be quieted by being asked to dinner,” said Oldmeadow laughing. “We’ll be fighting, too.”
“And who will we fight?” Palgrave inquired. After passing tea, he had resumed his place at Adrienne’s feet. “Who has been getting in our way now?”
“Don’t you read the papers?” Oldmeadow asked him.
“Not when I can avoid it,” said Palgrave. “They’ll be bellowing out the same old Jingo stuff on the slightest provocation, of course. As far as I can make out the Serbians are the most awful brutes and Russia is egging them on. But when it comes to a crime against humanity like war, every one is responsible.”
“Are you ready for strawberries, Aunt Monica,” Barbara interposed. “If there is a war, I hope we may be in it so that I can do some of my first aid on real people at last.”
She was carrying strawberries now to Adrienne who, as she leaned down, took her gently by the wrist, and said some low-toned words to her. “I know, my angel. Horrid of me!” said Barbara. “But one can’t take war seriously, can one!”