"What about this war, Uncle Vincent?" she said.
"Well—hem—well—no need to worry—I assure you—no need to worry!"
"It seems a pity," said Lord John, still looking furtively at Rachel and wishing that he could carry her off into some other corner and just ask her whether she were really happy or no.
"Why, John," said the Duke, cackling. "You'll have to go out, 'pon my word, you will—fight 'em, by Jove—Ha! ha! You'd make a fine soldier, old boy."
Rachel got up, hating Uncle Vincent very much. She put her hand on Uncle John's fat arm.
"You may go, Uncle Vincent," she said. "We all give you leave—Uncle John we love too much: if it's a question of bravery he'd be quite certainly the first of this family." She gave his arm a squeeze.
Uncle Vincent looked at her, smiling—
"Well," he said. "None of us would dream of going ... we're all much too comfortable."
"I'll see you before I go, uncle dear," she whispered to Lord John. Then she moved away.
Slowly making her path through the room she left it and climbed the great stone staircase.