distressed, discouraged, disillusioned about the whole of life. He
thought that Everard Lucas, screwing up a compass, was strangely
unmoved. But Mr. Enwright ignored Lucas.

"Who's got it?" George asked.

"Whinburn."

"That chap!... Where are _we_?"

"Nowhere."

"Not placed?"

"Not in it. Skelting's second. And Grant third. I shouldn't have minded
so much if Grant had got it. There was something to be said for his
scheme. I knew _we_ shouldn't get it. I knew that perfectly well--not
with Corver assessing."

George wondered that his admired principal should thus state the exact
opposite of what he had so often affirmed during the last few weeks.
People were certainly very queer, even the best of them. The perception
of this fact added to his puzzled woe.

"But Whinburn's design is grotesque!" he protested borrowing one of Mr.
Enwright's adjectives.

"Of course it is."

"Then why does Sir Hugh Corver go and give him the award? Surely he must