"Now take my own. I love essentially with my senses. Of course, I want a woman with sense, intelligence; a fool would irritate me immeasurably; I have no patience with fools; but I would be just as intolerant with what we may call the 'trained intellect' in a woman who was my constant companion. I enjoy that, greatly even, when I chance across it in other women; but in the case of my own woman, the one with me always, I want no arguments, no discussions in respect to my own essential intellectual pursuits and interests. Bluntly, I want to supply all the brains for the household. It's intolerant, of course, but that's how I am. What I want is not a woman who'll discuss politics, or Freud, or Relativity with me. I want one whom I may enjoy as I do a picture, music, fragrance. Of course, you see that I don't mean mere physical enjoyment--the man who marries for that is obviously a fool--but what I'm trying to drive at is that I enjoy woman companionship through esthetic impressions, through the visions and dreams that her presence, her loveliness, her charm, her womanliness, bring to me, not through ideas or debates. And that's why in my case I felt that I might find happiness best with a Japanese, who might be all of these things to me, playmate, doll, companion, picture--everything but an encyclopedia or text-book on philosophy. And I had it, Kent. I had all that with Jun-san--I have told you. My God, those were years of happiness. But it was too perfect. I thought I had life all solved for me, that I had finally gained serenity, peace; that I was about to accomplish something worth while--and then," he picked up his glass, smashed it deliberately into the brass bowl for pipe litter, "then to have it all smashed, like that--and by my own son!"
"Your son," Kent leaned forward, hands gripping chair arms. "Your son! You don't mean Mortimer?"
"He's the only son I have, isn't he?" Karsten had been pacing the floor; now he turned, facing Kent, glaring. "I didn't mean to tell you; but now you know it. Of course, I mean Mortimer."
"But it's impossible, it's absurd, it's preposterous, Karsten, man; you don't mean to say that you've been wrecking your life over such an insane fever fancy as that?"