‘I can’t get used to the idea of you with children, you know,’ he said; and then he added abruptly: ‘they are neither of them like you.’
I said:
‘No; they are like Walter’s family, both of them.’
I had not admitted this before, to anyone, nor yet that I minded about it, but I did.
‘I wish I had a child,’ said Hugo suddenly, staring away across the street. ‘A son—you must have a son, Helen.’
And he turned back to me.
I said:
‘Yes, I hope I shall, next time.’
We walked on slowly, towards the house. The children were unusually quiet, staring with round eyes at Hugo.
We talked of Guy; Hugo had seen him at Amiens, and of Mollie, still nursing in Salonika. We did not talk of George. Then we reached the door of the garden and went in.