"Too hot in the summer," said Sibyl decisively. "I can see the weaving-sheds, and the jewellery-shops, and the bookbinder's department, and the printing-house, and the woodblock-cutter's little shop round by the stairs, and the ceramic works--(only we really must be sure that chimney-shaft will be any good)--and the bronze-casters, and the printed fabrics, and the type-writing _de luxe_ for private circulation." She checked off each department on her fingers, imagining clearly--so Mr. Challis, who was watching her, thought--the place in which it was to be located. Then she came to her exception--"But where on earth these tiresome ivorycarvers are to be put I can't imagine!" Her brother, with perfect gravity, accepted the difficulty as one to be wrestled with. "I don't see why they need be downstairs at all," said he. "Why not put them in--well!--if not in the roof, why not in that room beyond the Art-needlework schools?" "We can't conveniently have boys and young men passing and repassing." Sibyl was giving it serious thought; no doubt of that! She added with conviction: "We shall have to build in the end; so we may as well look the matter in the face." "What do you want with ivorycarvers?" Thus Judith, with a near approach to a yawn. It never came off, owing to good breeding; but Mr. Challis noted to himself that it would have been statuesque had it done so. Marianne's yawn was not statuesque. He could recall cases in point.... What had that to do with the matter, by-the-bye? Challis brushed it away by joining in a murmur of half-protest against Judith's question. The world was listening interested to the evolution of the Great Idea. Politics had slacked down--to give it a turn. And the world perceived, in a doubt thrown on the necessity for ivory carving, a dangerous phase of criticism that might undermine the whole scheme. Sibyl said, with decisive resignation, "Oh dear!--how exactly like you that is, Ju!" And her brother, "That's Judith all over." Then both asked a mixed question, equivalent to--If not ivorycarvers, why not anything? Why not no jewelery?--no art needlework?--no hammered metal or wood carving? The world's murmur of half-protest--so Challis thought--had really less to do with the demerits of the cavil it condemned than with the obviousness of the answer to it. A mob is apt to mistake its self-gratulation at having perceived something for agreement with the thing it has perceived. Folk sing below par in unison, and no one cares much which way he votes in a _plebiscite_. This is what Mr. Challis thought, not a remark of the text. He resolved to put it in his next book. "I am in a minority." Judith dropped her fine eyelids with a hint in the action of formal surrender, as one strikes a banner. "Even Mr. Challis has deserted me!" Challis said, "Not altogether. I'm a trimmer playing fast and loose. A sort of plaid, like Sam Weller." But he had not understood his _monde_. It was one that knew nothing about Sam Weller.