‘Really!’ she said, ‘I had not heard!’
This calm and nonchalant lie astounded
Richard. She was a beautiful girl—vivacious, fresh, charming. She could not have long passed her twentieth year, and her face seemed made of innocence and lilies. Yet she lied like a veteran deceiver. It was amusing. Richard removed his spectacles, wiped them, and replaced them.
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I went to the afternoon performance. The clowns were excellent, and there was a lady rider, named Juana, who was the most perfect horsewoman I have ever seen.’
Not a muscle of that virginal face twitched.
‘Indeed!’ said Teresa.
‘I thought, perhaps, you had been with friends to the evening performance,’ Richard said.
‘Oh no!’ Teresa answered. ‘I had had a much longer journey. Of course, as I overtook those absurd elephants in the cutting, I knew that there must be a circus somewhere in the neighbourhood.’
Then there was another lull in the conversation.
‘More wine, Mr. Redgrave?’ Teresa invited him.