"Pure Fijian!"
The one at which Eleanor was looking, her eyes having fallen to the floor, was both large and elegant. It was very substantially and neatly made, and had a border fancifully wrought all round it, a few inches in width. The pattern of the border was made with bits of worsted and little white feathers. This mat covered all the centre of the room; under it the whole floor was spread with other and coarser ones; and others of a still different manufacture lined the walls of the room.
"One need not want a prettier carpet," said Eleanor, keeping her eyes on the mat. Mr. Rhys put his arm round her and drew her off to one side of the room, where he made her pause before a large square space which was sunk a foot deep in the earth and bordered massively with a frame of logs of hard wood.
"What do you think of that?"
"Mr. Rhys, what is it?"
"You would not take it for a fireplace?" he said with a comical look.
"But is it a fireplace?"
"That is what it is intended for. The Fijians make their fireplaces in this manner."
"And you are a Fijian, I suppose."
"So are you."