By the aid of a perfect bonfire of sticks and brushwood, which Bevis foraged out of the fields, Mavis's clothes were dried at last, and the little party were able to start off on their way back to Chagmouth. They hurried along, being afraid lest Uncle David should have returned from the Sanatorium and be waiting to set off in the car for Durracombe. As they clattered down the steep steps that led from the footpath into the village, they almost ran into Gwen and Babbie Williams, who, looking charming in white serge coats and little ermine caps, were going to post letters in the pillar-box. Gwen stood still and stared in utter amazement, first at Mavis's mud-stained garments and then at Bevis. The latter raised his cap, but Gwen did not acknowledge the courtesy, and remained gazing as if absolutely petrified, while the Triumvirate, conscious of intense disapproval, scurried past in the direction of the farm. "Why do we _always_ happen to meet the Glyn Williams just when we're not tidy. It really _is_ too bad," groaned Mavis. "There's fate about it I think. I've only to lose my hair ribbon, or forget my gloves, or dirty my boots, and Gwen turns up round the corner as neat as if she'd stepped out of a bandbox. It's most fearfully aggravating. I wish to goodness they'd stay at The Warren instead of acting fashion plates in the village. I'm thoroughly cross," grunted Merle. Bevis said nothing, though he might have added that it was not pleasant to have your civility acknowledged only with a stare. There was a curious stubborn look on the lad's dark face, such as the girls had noticed there on that first afternoon when they had been obliged to put off their appointment with him in the tool-shed. He turned abruptly into the stackyard when they reached the farm, and though, afterwards, they hunted about for him to say good-bye, they could not find him anywhere. CHAPTER XIV Nicky Nan Night Immediately after the lesson, on the next French day, Gwen Williams sauntered in the direction of the Ramsays. "Do you go out for walks with that Penruddock boy from Grimbal's Farm?" she asked rather insolently. "Do you mean Bevis Hunter?" Mavis's voice was iced politeness. "Yes. I told Mother, and she _was_ surprised! Does your uncle know?" Merle was on the point of bursting out, "It's not your business!" but her more discreet sister gave her a hasty poke. "It was Uncle David who sent us out with Bevis," answered Mavis with stately dignity. "He thinks very highly of him, and so do we. I've never met anybody who knows so much about natural history, or who can tell us more about excavations and prehistoric mounds and things. He was curator of the school museum when he was at Shelton College." Gwen gazed at Mavis as if she were speaking an unknown language. "It's a matter of taste of course," she replied. "_I_ shouldn't care to go about with the boy from the Penruddocks' Farm."