e. There he found--

"via strata patebat
Hostibus; ardentes surgunt ducemque sequuntur."

True that the lines did not sound beautiful: in a copy of twenty-two
lines you must have one or two dull moments. But "via strata" and
"ducem"--two false quantities in a line and a half. How could he have
done it? He flung the rough copy into the fire and swore violently.
Silver Button wouldn't make false quantities: Silver Button would have
learned about 'dux' and 'duco' when he was twelve--so had Martin. But
then Silver Button wouldn't, couldn't, forget. Martin was convinced
now that, as far as a scholarship was concerned, he might as well never
have entered.

He wandered morosely into the streets: it started to rain and he took
refuge in the cinema. For half-an-hour he watched the films and, more
particularly, an amorous couple in front. A girl came and sat on his
right: she was distinctly attractive and her chin, poised daintily in
the air, conveyed an exquisite invitation: the rest of her face was
hidden by hat. He began to feel, as before, self-conscious and
miserable. This time he would speak, must speak ... but how? The
couple in front had reached their limit in proximity. Suddenly her
foot touched his and with a surreptitious glance he saw below the brim
of that entrancing hat. She was perfect. She had taken off her glove
and her hand lay on her lap: before Martin knew what he was doing, he
had taken it and pressed it. The girl turned abruptly round, snatched
her hand away, and said coldly:

"Please leave me alone."

Martin obeyed, blushing furiously. "I'm very sorry," he muttered, but
she took no notice. He sat gazing in front of him, humiliated and
tortured. What a fool he had been! Why hadn't he said something and
made an opening?

The film clicked monotonously on. One fact alone flamed across his
mind: he must get out before the film was over. He couldn't endure the
raising of the lights. But either he would have to crush past the girl
on his right or else go out to the left, a journey which would involve
forcing his way through a long row of stout people. Both alternatives
were unpleasant.

The film was ending. The music had ceased to ripple and begun to sob,
always a proof of impending embraces. The hero and heroine were
rolling great lurid eyes at one another. The lights went up. Martin
pushed his way out to the left past the stout and sulky: then he
hurried back thro