If only Irene had given him a son, he wouldn't now be squirming after women! The thought had jumped out of its little dark sentry-box in his inner consciousness.

A son--something to look forward to, something to make the rest of life worth while, something to leave himself to, some perpetuity of self.

'If I had a son,' he thought bitterly, 'a proper legal son, I could make shift to go on as I used.

One woman's much the same as another, after all.' But as he walked he shook his head.

No! One woman was not the same as another.
Many a time had he tried to think that in the old days of his thwarted married life; and he had always failed.