"Where are you hanging out now?" inquired Mr. Thesiger. "Town--or where?" Considering that he knew the answer to his query perfectly well, he put the question with a praiseworthy amount of ingenuousness. Lady Coote sighed heavily. "Sir Oswald has taken the Duke of Alton's place. Letherbury. You know it, perhaps?" "Oh, rather. Topping place, isn't it?" "Oh, I don't know," said Lady Coote. "It's a very large place, and gloomy, you know. Rows of picture galleries with such forbidding looking people. What they call Old Masters are very depressing, I think. You should have seen a little house we had in Yorkshire, Mr. Thesiger. When Sir Oswald was plain Mr. Coote. Such a nice lounge hall and a cheerful drawing-room with an ingle-nook--a white striped paper with a frieze of wisteria I chose for it, I remember. Satin stripe, you know, not moiré. Much better taste, I always think. The dining-room faced northeast, so we didn't get much sun in it, but with a good bright scarlet paper and a set of those comic hunting prints--why, it was as cheerful as Christmas." In the excitement of these reminiscences, Lady Coote dropped several little balls of wool, which Jimmy dutifully retrieved. "Thank you, my dear," said Lady Coote. "Now, what was I saying? Oh!--about houses--yes, I do like a cheerful house. And choosing things for it gives you an interest." "I suppose Sir Oswald will be buying a place of his own one of these days," suggested Jimmy. "And then you can have it just as you like." Lady Coote shook her head sadly. "Sir Oswald talks of a firm doing it--and you know what that means." "Oh! But they'd consult you!" "It would be one of those grand places--all for the antique. They'd look down on the things I call comfortable and homey. Not but that Sir Oswald wasn't very comfortable and satisfied in his home always, and I daresay his tastes are just the same underneath. But nothing will suit him now but the best! He's got on wonderfully, and naturally he wants something to show for it, but many's the time I wonder where it will end." Jimmy looked sympathetic. "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 now--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." "What's he worried about?"