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They dined. Mr. Garstin gave Kitty the details of his wife's illness and death, and he told her the kindness of the friends who had written (there were piles of sympathetic letters on his table and he sighed when he considered the burden of answering them) and the arrangements he had made for the funeral. Then they went back into his study. This was the only room in the house which had a fire. He mechanically took from the chimney-piece his pipe and began to fill it, but he gave his daughter a doubtful look and put it down.
"Aren't you going to smoke?" she asked.
"Your mother didn't very much like the smell of a pipe after dinner and since the war I've given up cigars."
His answer gave Kitty a little pang. It seemed dreadful that a man of sixty should hesitate to smoke what he wante
