“It’s like a runaway horse,” said Lady Coote. “Got the bit between its teeth and away it goes. It’s the same with Sir Oswald. He’s got on, and he’s got on, till he can’t stop getting on. He’s one of the richest men in England⁠—but does that satisfy him? No, he wants still more. He wants to be⁠—I don’t know what he wants to be! I can tell you, it frightens me sometimes!”

“Like the Persian Johnny,” said Jimmy, “who went about wailing for fresh worlds to conquer.”

Lady Coote nodded acquiescence without much knowing what Jimmy was talking about.

“What I wonder is⁠—will his stomach stand it?” she went on tearfully. “To have him an invalid⁠—with his ideas⁠—oh, it won’t bear thinking of.”

“He looks very hearty,” said Jimmy, consolingly.

“He’s got something on his mind,” said Lady Coote. “Worried, that’s what he is. I know.”