"You don't mean Frank Levitt, captain in the gunners?"
"I do."
"Was he by any chance stationed at Poona in nineteen-ten, eleven?"
"He was."
"But, bless my soul—he was my brother-in-law Dick—Dick Benham's best friend."
The Major's slightly ironical homage had given place to a serious excitement, a respectful interest.
"Oh—Dicky Benham—is he—?"
"Rather. I've heard him talk about Frank Levitt scores of times. Do you hear that, Waddington? Mrs. Levitt knows all my sister's people. Why on earth haven't we met before?"
Mr. Waddington writhed, while between them they reeled off a long series of names, people and places, each a link joining up Major Markham and Mrs. Levitt. The Major was so excited about it that he went round the garden telling Thurston and Hawtrey and Corbett, so that presently all these gentlemen formed round Mrs. Levitt an interested and animated group. Mr. Waddington hovered miserably on the edge of it; short of thrusting Markham aside with his elbow (Markham for choice) he couldn't have broken through. He would give it up and go away, and be drawn back again and again; but though Mrs. Levitt could see him plainly, no summons from her beautiful eyes invited his approach.
His behaviour became noticeable. It was observed chiefly by his son
Horry.