She had been talking to Major Markham for the last ten minutes, displaying herself as the absurdly youthful mother of a grown-up son. Toby Levitt, a tall and slender likeness of his mother, was playing tennis with distinction, ignoring young Horace, his partner, standing well up to the net and repeating the alternate smashing and sliding strokes that kept Ralph and Barbara bounding from one end of the court to the other. Mrs. Levitt was trying to reconcile the proficiency of Toby's play with his immunity from conscription in the late war. The war led straight to Major Markham's battery, and Major Markham's battery to the battery once commanded by Toby's father, which led to Poona and the great discovery. "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. Horry took Barbara apart. "I say, have you seen my guv'nor?" "No. What? Where?" She could see by his face that he was drawing her into some iniquitous, secret by-path of diversion. "There, just behind you. Turn round--this way--but don't look as if you'd spotted him.... Did you ever see anything like him? He's like a Newfoundland dog trying to look over a gate. It wouldn't be half so funny if he wasn't so dignified all the time." She didn't approve of Horry. He wasn't decent. But the dignity--it _was_ wonderful. Horry went on. "What on earth did the mater ask that woman for? She might have known he'd make a fool of himself." "Oh, Horry, you mustn't. It's awful of you. You really _are_ a little beast." "I'm not. Fancy doing it at his own garden party. He never thinks of _us_. Look at the dear little mater, there, pretending she doesn't see him. _That's_ what makes me mad, Barbara." "Well, you ought to pretend you don't see it, too."