Still, they did not
hear Mr. Beebe's last warning or they would have avoided Mrs.
Honeychurch, Cecil, and Lucy, who were walking down to call on
old Mrs. Butterworth. Freddy dropped the waistcoat at their feet,
and dashed into some bracken. George whooped in their faces,
turned and scudded away down the path to the pond, still
clad in Mr. Beebe's hat.
"Gracious alive!" cried Mrs. Honeychurch. "Whoever were those
unfortunate people? Oh, dears, look away! And poor Mr. Beebe,
too! Whatever has happened?"
"Come this way immediately," commanded Cecil, who always felt
that he must lead women, though knew not whither, and protect
them, though he knew not against what. He led them now towards
the bracken where Freddy sat concealed.
"Oh, poor Mr. Beebe! Was that his waistcoat we left in the path?
Cecil, Mr. Beebe's waistcoat--"
No business of ours, said Cecil, glancing at Lucy, who was all
parasol and evidently "minded."
"I fancy Mr. Beebe jumped back into the pond."
"This way, please, Mrs.
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