"Does it mean anything?"
"Sometimes, when I've had half a dozen whiskies and look at the stars, I think perhaps it does."
Silence fell upon them and when it was broken it was again by Kitty.
"Tell me, is The dog it was that died, a quotation?"
Waddington's lips outlined a smile and he was ready with his answer.
But perhaps at that moment his sensibilities were abnormally acute.
Kitty was not looking at him, but there was something about her expression which made him change his mind.
"If it is I don't know it," he answered warily.
"Why?"
"Nothing.
It crossed my mind.
It had a familiar ring."
There was another silence.
"When you were alone with your husband," said Waddington presently, "I had a talk with the regimental surgeon.
I thought we ought to have some details."
"Well?"
"He was in a very hysterical state.
I couldn't really quite understand what he meant.
So far as I can make out your husband got infected during the course of experiments he was making."
"He was always experimenting.
He wasn't really a doctor, he was a bacteriologist; that is why he was so anxious to come here."
"But I can't quite make out from the surgeon's statements whether he was infected accidentally or whether he was actually experimenting on himself."
Kitty grew very pale.
The suggestion made her shudder.
Waddington took her hand.
"Forgive me for talking about this again," he said gently, "but I thought it might comfort you - I know how frightfully difficult it is on these occasions to say anything that is of the least use - I thought it might mean something to you that Walter died a martyr to science and to his duty."
Kitty shrugged her shoulders with a suspicion of impatience.
"Walter died of a broken heart," she said.
Waddington did not answer.
She turned and looked at him slowly.
Her face was white and set.
"What did he mean by saying: The dog it was that died?
What is it?"
"It's the last line of Goldsmith's Elegy."
LXVII
NEXT morning Kitty went to the convent.
The girl who opened the door seemed surprised to see her and when Kitty had been for a few minutes about her work the Mother Superior came in. She went up to Kitty and took her hand.
"I am glad to see you, my dear child.
You show a fine courage in coming back here so soon after your great, sorrow; and wisdom, for I am sure that a little work will keep you from brooding."
Kitty cast down her eyes, reddening a little; she did not want the Mother Superior to see into her heart.
"I need not tell you how sincerely all of us here sympathize with you."
"You are very kind," whispered Kitty.
"We all pray for you constantly and for the soul of him you have lost."
Kitty made no reply.
The Mother Superior released her hand and in her cool, authoritative tone imposed various tasks upon her.
She patted two or three children on the head, gave them her aloof, but winning smile, and went about her more pressing affairs.
LXVIII
A WEEK went by.
Kitty was sewing.
The Mother Superior entered the room and sat down beside her. She gave Kitty's work a shrewd glance.