"I never came across one, sir."
"They are rare," was the airy reply. "The best ones used to be made in Germany and sent to Egypt. By the tune the camels had finished with them, they'd fetch anything from a millionaire to a foxhound."
This was too much for Jill's gravity, and it was only with an effort that Daphne controlled her voice.
"I think that's very nice," she said shakily. "Don't you?" she added, turning to me.
"Beautiful piece of work," I agreed. "Some of it appears to have been done after dinner, but otherwise...."
"The pattern is invariably a little irregular, sir."
"Yes," said Berry. "That's what makes them so valuable. Their lives are reflected in their rugs. Every mat is a human document." With the ferrule of his umbrella he indicated a soft blue line that was straying casually from the course which its fellows had taken. "That, for instance, is where Ethel the Unready demanded a latchkey at the mature age of sixty-two. And here we see Uncle Sennacherib fined two measures of oil for being speechless before mid-day. I don't think we'd better give her this one," he added. "She-bat the Satyr seems to have got going about the middle, and from what I remember——"
"Haven't you got to go and get some socks?" said Daphne desperately.
"I have. Will you meet me for lunch, or shall I meet you? I believe they do you very well at the Zoo."
The salesman retired precipitately into an office, and my sister besought me tearfully to take her husband away.