Baskerville was shown into a little morning–room on the second floor, which had belonged to the poor dead woman. It was very simply furnished and in many ways suggested Mrs. Clavering. Baskerville, remembering her untoward fate in being thrust into a position for which she was unfitted, and her genuine goodness and gentleness, felt a real regret at her death. Being a generous man, he had taken pleasure in the intention of being kind to Mrs. Clavering; he knew that it would add extremely to Anne’s happiness. But, like much other designed good, it was too late. He remembered with satisfaction the little courtesies he had been able to show Mrs. Clavering and Anne’s gratitude for them; and then, before he knew it, Anne, in her black gown, pale and heavy–eyed, was sobbing in his arms. She soon became composed, and told him calmly of the last days. She dwelt with a kind of solemn joy upon her last conversation with her mother about Baskerville, and the message she had sent him. “My mother had not been any too well treated in this life,” added Anne, the smouldering resentment in her heart showing in her eyes, “and you are almost the only man of your class who ever seemed to recognize her beautiful qualities—for my mother had beautiful qualities.” “I know it,” replied Baskerville, with perfect sincerity, “and I tried to show my appreciation of them.” It was plain to Baskerville, after spending some time with Anne, that she knew nothing of the news concerning her father with which all Washington was ringing. Baskerville felt that it would never do for her to hear it by idle gossip or by chance. So, after a while, he told her—told her with all the gentleness, all the tenderness, at his command, softening it so far as he could. Anne listened, tearless and dry–eyed. She followed him fairly well, and asked at last, “Do you mean that—that my father will be expelled from the Senate, and then—there will be no more trouble?” “Dearest, I wish I could say so. But there will be a great deal more of trouble, I am afraid—enough to make it necessary that you and I should be married as soon as possible.” “And you would marry the daughter of a man so disgraced, who may end his days in a prison?” “Yes—since it is you.” He then inquired her plans for the present. Mrs. Clavering’s body was to be taken for burial to her old home in Iowa. Baskerville asked, or rather demanded, that within a month Anne should be prepared to become his wife. “And haven’t you some relations out in Iowa from whose house we can be married?” he said. “Yes,” replied Anne, “I have aunts and cousins there. I warn you they are very plain people, but they are very respectable. I don’t think there is a person in my mother’s family of whom I have any reason to be ashamed, although they are, as I tell you, plain people.”