What did she mean? I could not understand. Later I met with Miss Destiny, and could understand the aunt no more than I understood the niece. The first told me to go away in a most peremptory manner, while the second hinted that because Joseph possessed Mrs. Caldershaw's private papers, Gertrude was likely to become Mrs. Striver within six months. It was really all very perplexing, and the sole way to end such perplexity was to show Miss Monk her cloak and demand explanations. But this I did not wish to do, until I was more certain of my ground: until I understood her feelings towards myself better. For by this time, what with Striver's persistence, her own dismissal of myself, and Miss Destiny's strange hints, I was beginning to believe that she favored my handsome, humble attentive rival. "I sha'n't stand it any longer," I thought, turning my steps towards the inn. "This very evening, I shall call and see her. We must have an explanation straight away!" And this resolution I adhered to so firmly that I found myself at the door of the Jacobean mansion one hour after dinner--that is, seeing I dined early in the country--at seven o'clock. The grounds of The Lodge--thanks to Striver's love-lorn devotion--were most beautifully kept. The flower-beds had no weeds, the lawns were smoothly clipped and rolled, and the whole place had an orderly trim look, which contrasted oddly with the tumbledown appearance of the house itself. This, of mellow red brick, overgrown with ivy, stood on a slight rise, and a wide terrace of stone with shallow steps descending to the lawns, ran round three sides of it. Some Vandal had put French windows into the drawing-room, and these looked quite out of keeping with the old-world air of the mansion. It was a very ancient house, and I verily believe that only the ivy held the mouldering bricks together. The porch was large and chilly, and when I pulled the bell, its jangling echoes, followed by the baying of Puddles, added to the lonely impression produced by the place. Miss Destiny called her niece "The Sleeping Beauty!" so this dismal dwelling might well have been her palace. Only Mr. Striver's trim garden looked modern and well-cared for: the house itself was a slight improvement on the ruins of Carthage. The one servant of the Lodge--a white-capped, sober, sedate old creature called Trumble--came to the door, and seemed doubtful about admitting me. The place was like a convent and evidently Trumble did not wish any male to enter. But while I argued with her, Miss Monk appeared, and intimated that I could come in. I would have thanked her, but that her beauty took my breath away. Even in the dim light of the hall lamp, she shone like a star; but it was not until we were in the drawing-room that the full perfection of her loveliness burst upon me. I stared like an oaf, or like the misnamed Cortez in Keats's sonnet.