When the girls reached home, there was a letter on the table for Mavis in Clive's handwriting. They heard from the boy every now and then, though he was not a particularly good correspondent. This epistle, which had apparently been penned on Sunday, was mostly a summary of cricket and anticipations of his holidays. It ended:
Your affec'ate coz, CLIVE.
P.S.—Meant to send you this snap before. Isn't it priceless?
The sting of a scorpion is in its tail. Mavis stooped down and picked up the little photo which had fallen from the envelope on to the floor. Clive had used his Brownie camera at Chagmouth and had promised to post them the results, but had forgotten. This solitary print represented Bevis—there was no mistaking Bevis—but Mavis bent over it with puzzled eyes, for clasped tightly in his arms with her head laid upon his shoulder was a girl. Merle, who snatched the photo away to look at it, decided her identity at once.
"Why, it's Romola! That's the artistic blue dress that Violet made for her!"
"So it is! Where's her plait, though?"
"Hidden behind her, I suppose. I say! They're coming it rather strong, aren't they?"
"Yes. I shouldn't have thought that of Bevis!"
"No more should I!" (Merle was looking annoyed.) "I'd no idea he could be so silly. I shall rag him about this, you bet!"
"I wouldn't!" (Mavis's voice was very quiet.) "Romola is so pretty!
Perhaps he likes her!"