Why could she not be Freddy, who stood stiff in the
middle of the room; looking very cross and almost handsome?
"I say, Lucy!" called Cecil, for conversation seemed to flag.
Lucy rose from the seat. She moved across the lawn and smiled in
at them, just as if she was going to ask them to play tennis.
Then she saw her brother's face. Her lips parted, and she took
him in her arms. He said, "Steady on!"
"Not a kiss for me?" asked her mother.
Lucy kissed her also.
"Would you take them into the garden and tell Mrs. Honeychurch
all about it?" Cecil suggested. "And I'd stop here and tell my
mother."
"We go with Lucy?" said Freddy, as if taking orders.
"Yes, you go with Lucy."
They passed into the sunlight. Cecil watched them cross the
terrace, and descend out of sight by the steps. They would
descend--he knew their ways--past the shrubbery, and past the
tennis-lawn and the dahlia-bed, until they reached the kitchen
garden, and there, in the presence of the potatoes and the peas,
the great event would be discussed.
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