General Ople entered into the gaieties of the neighbourhood once more, and passed through the Winter cheerfully.  In justice to him, however, it should be said that to the intent dwelling of his mind upon Lady Camper, and not to the festive life he led, was due his entire ignorance of his daughter’s unhappiness.  She lived with him, and yet it was in other houses he learnt that she was unhappy.  After his last interview with Lady Camper, he had informed Elizabeth of the ruinous and preposterous amount of money demanded of him for a settlement upon her and Elizabeth, like the girl of good sense that she was, had replied immediately, ’It could not be thought of, papa.’

He had spoken to Reginald likewise.  The young man fell into a dramatic tearing-of-hair and long-stride fury, not ill becoming an enamoured dragoon.  But he maintained that his aunt, though an eccentric, was a cordially kind woman.  He seemed to feel, if he did not partly hint, that the General might have accepted Lady Camper’s terms.  The young officer could no longer be welcome at Douro Lodge, so the General paid him a morning call at his quarters, and was distressed to find him breakfasting very late, tapping eggs that he forgot to open—­one of the surest signs of a young man downright and deep in love, as the General knew from experience—­and surrounded by uncut sporting journals of past weeks, which dated from the day when his blow had struck him, as accurately as the watch of the drowned man marks his minute.  Lady Camper had gone to Italy, and was in communication with her nephew:  Reginald was not further explicit.  His legs were very prominent in his despair, and his fingers frequently performed the part of blunt combs; consequently the General was impressed by his passion for Elizabeth.  The girl who, if she was often meditative, always met his eyes with a smile, and quietly said ‘Yes, papa,’ and ‘No, papa,’ gave him little concern as to the state of her feelings.  Yet everybody said now that she was unhappy.  Mrs. Barcop, the widow, raised her voice above the rest.  So attentive was she to Elizabeth that the General had it kindly suggested to him, that some one was courting him through his daughter.  He gazed at the widow.  Now she was not much past thirty; and it was really singular—­he could have laughed—­thinking of Mrs. Barcop set him persistently thinking of Lady Camper.  That is to say, his mad fancy reverted from the lady of perhaps thirty-five to the lady of seventy.

Such, thought he, is genius in a woman!  Of his neighbours generally, Mrs. Baerens, the wife of a German merchant, an exquisite player on the pianoforte, was the most inclined to lead him to speak of Lady Camper.  She was a kind prattling woman, and was known to have been a governess before her charms withdrew the gastronomic Gottfried Baerens from his devotion to the well-served City club, where, as he exclaimed (ever turning fondly to his wife as he vocalized the compliment), he had found every necessity, every luxury, in life, ’as you cannot have dem out of London—­all save de female!’ Mrs. Baerens, a lady of Teutonic extraction, was distinguishable as of that sex; at least, she was not masculine.  She spoke with great respect of Lady Camper and her family, and seemed to agree in the General’s eulogies of Lady Camper’s constitution.  Still he thought she eyed him strangely.