Under common circumstances, it might not be readily assumed that anyone should have their answer to this question so handy to the tongue. But Peggy, whose life had at once point descended into a pit of concern over the very thing, was quick and sharp to answer: "Dulce et decorum est pro civibus mori. Perhaps."

Sweeter and more right was it (maybe) to die for one's countrymen instead of one's country. Nations were arbitrary things -- the pair of them had proved it well enough in this single conversation. But she had to believe there was a native nobility in self-sacrifice. Not for an empire or a republic, but for a city full of people. If she didn't believe it, then she'd have no reason to ascribe Steve Rogers his well-deserved peace.

"I have no love for needless slaughter. Or for sacrifice without choice--" Peggy, this is my choice "--but I must admire what any man or woman does in service of their fellow humans. I share Mister Wilfred Owen's sentiment -- but perhaps I cannot fathom his pain."

It was a tidier answer than suggesting she disagreed with his politics. Owen had been a broken man come the end of the Great War. Peggy couldn't find common ground in that tragedy.