Mrs. Luttrell, escorted by Baskerville, and meeting acquaintances at every turn, entered the great drawing–room, which was a symphony in green and gold. Near the door Anne Clavering, in a simple gray gown, stood by her mother, who was seated. Anne received the guests, and then introduced them to Mrs. Clavering, who made the pretence of receiving, looking the picture of misery meanwhile. The poor soul would much rather have remained upstairs; but on this point Anne was inexorable—her mother must show herself in her own drawing–room. A handsome black gown, appropriate to an elderly lady, showed Mrs. Clavering at her best, and Anne, with perfect tact, grace, and patience, silently demanded and received for her mother the respect which was due her and which there was occasionally some difficulty in exacting. As Anne caught sight of Mrs. Luttrell, she smiled with obvious pleasure; but on seeing Baskerville her face lighted up in a way which by no means escaped Mrs. Luttrell’s sharp eyes. Mrs. Clavering was nearly frightened out of her life on the rare occasions when the redoubtable Mrs. Luttrell called, but on this afternoon Mrs. Luttrell was as soft as milk and as sweet as honey itself. Mrs. Clavering was not the least afraid of Baskerville, and said to him earnestly, as he took her hand, “I’m real glad to see you.” “And I am very glad to be able to come,” answered Baskerville. Then, seating himself by her side, he began to talk to her so gently on subjects the poor lady was interested in that she was more delighted with him than ever. A soft flush came into Anne’s delicate cheeks; she appreciated the sweet and subtle flattery in Baskerville’s attitude. It was not interest in Mrs. Clavering’s conversation, nor even the pity he might have felt for her forlorn condition, which induced him to spend twenty minutes of his visit in talking to her. Meantime the dusk was deepening. Many visitors were departing and few coming. Mrs. Luttrell was entertaining a select coterie of men around the large fireplace at the other end of the room, and Baskerville was the only person left near Anne and Mrs. Clavering. “Will you be kind enough,” he said to Anne, “to go with me to get a cup of tea? I see a table in yonder, but I am afraid of so many young girls at once. I think I can count six of them. Now if you will go with me, I shall feel as brave as a lion.” The temptation was strong, but Anne looked down at her mother. Apprehension was written on Mrs. Clavering’s simple, homely face at the notion of being left alone. “Why can’t Mr. Baskerville have his tea with me?” said she. “There ain’t any more folks coming. Make Peer bring a table here, Anne, and we’ll have it comfortable together.” “Yes,” Baskerville added, drawing up a chair. “Mrs. Clavering is far more amiable and hospitable than you. I am sure you would never have thought of so kind a solution.”