At the end of the ninth chapter, Cecil and Lucy find themselves alone in the woods, and Cecil asks whether Lucy would allow him to kiss her. She says yes in a way that Cecil is unhappy with, as he finds it austere and unromantic. The narrator uses a metaphor to describe her response, and this produces dramatic irony, as the reader knows just how intense and romantic her kiss with George was.
Her reply was inadequate. She gave such a businesslike lift to her veil. As he approached her he found time to wish that he could recoil. As he touched her, his gold pince-nez became dislodged and was flattened between them.
When Cecil asks to kiss Lucy, she says the following: "Of course you may, Cecil. You might before. I can’t run at you, you know." On behalf of Cecil, the narrator compares this reply to a "businesslike lift to her veil." The veil in question would presumably be a bridal veil, as the two are getting married in a few months. Normally, the moment at which a bride lifts her veil to kiss the groom is romantic, passionate, and touching. The moment shared between the two fiancés cannot be described using any of those words. Although referring to a lifting of the veil as "businesslike" would normally seem nearly oxymoronic, such a description feels apt in this moment.
Cecil is upset by their first kiss and considers it "a failure." Using indirect interior monologue, Forster offers the reader Cecil's musings on passion and love:
Passion should believe itself irresistible. It should forget civility and consideration and all the other curses of a refined nature. Above all, it should never ask for leave where there is a right of way. Why could he not do as any labourer or navy — nay, as any young man behind the counter would have done?
This passage is full of dramatic irony, as the reader knows that Lucy has already had a kiss that follows all of these stipulations: her kiss with George seemed inevitable and irresistible, it did not take civility or refinement into consideration, it was not preceded by any asking of leave. Cecil reproaches himself for not being able to do "as any young man behind the counter would have done," totally unaware that the novel's "any young man" has kissed his fiancée in exactly the way Cecil wishes he had been able to.
In the tenth chapter, Lucy finds out that Cecil has thwarted her plan to install the Miss Alans at the villa Sir Harry Otway has been struggling to find tenants for—replacing the spinster sisters with none other than the Emersons. Several layers of irony, as well as foreshadowing, ensue in the conversation between Lucy and Cecil after she reproaches him on his obstruction of her plan. Not realizing that something is going on between Lucy and George, Cecil speaks the following line:
'No, Lucy, the classes ought to mix, and before long you’ll agree with me. There ought to be intermarriage — all sorts of things. I believe in democracy —’
Cecil's reason for bringing the Emersons to Summer Street in the first place is to punish Sir Harry Otway for his snobbery. The idea of one snob punishing another snob by playing with the lives of people who are below them in class, status, and wealth drips with situational irony. Additionally, the idea of Cecil educating Lucy on snobbery and democracy is ironic because Lucy is hardly a snob in comparison to Cecil.
Cecil thinks Lucy is opposed to the Emersons moving into the neighborhood because of her prejudices, when her opposition is in fact a result of her feelings for George. Claiming that he believes in intermarriage, Cecil brings the Emersons into Lucy's circle to educate her. Not only does he unintentionally bring Lucy and George together, Cecil is blissfully unaware of how close to home his supposedly desired intermarriage will occur. This is an instance of dramatic irony, as the reader knows that love and passion have long been brewing between Lucy and George. It is also an instance of foreshadowing, as Cecil's mention of intermarriage seems to hint at the union between George and Lucy.
Toward the end of the novel, the titles of three chapters in a row follow an anaphoric construction. Chapter 16 is called "Lying to George," Chapter 17 is called "Lying to Cecil," and Chapter 18 is called "Lying to Lying to Mr Beebe, Mrs Honeychurch, Freddy and the Servants." This repetition foreshadow later events and creates some dramatic irony.
The "Lying to" titles pique the reader's curiosity—what will the lie be, will it be obvious, and what will come of it? Before the events of the chapter have even begun, the narrator alerts the reader to the fact that something Lucy says over the course of the chapter will be a lie. In a way, the chapter titles unite the narrator and reader in their disbelieving attitude towards the coming conversations. This creates dramatic irony, as the reader goes into each of the three chapters knowing more than the characters—knowing more than even Lucy, who above all appears to be lying to herself.
In a story, where there's a lie (especially one that the reader is alerted to in advance) there will very likely be a reveal of some kind. Accordingly, the titles of these chapters also serve to foreshadow the fallout of Lucy's lies. She has been lying to herself throughout the novel, all while attempting to be "absolutely truthful" with her friends and family members. The titles of the chapters contribute to the building suspense, as the reader feels increasingly sure that a confrontation and climax is on the horizon.
The content of Lucy's lies is finally put in black and white by the narrator in the seventeenth chapter, after she has lied to both George and Cecil:
Lucy entered this army when she pretended to George that she did not love him, and pretended to Cecil that she loved no one. The night received her, as it had received Miss Bartlett thirty years before.
The army that the narrator claims Lucy is entering is metaphorical. After explaining why she's broken off the engagement to Cecil, the narrator writes that Lucy feels determined to never marry and that she gives up on trying to understand herself, joining the "the vast armies of the benighted, who follow neither the heart nor the brain." Comparing Lucy to Charlotte, her unmarried cousin, the narrator claims that with these lies, Lucy seals her fate as someone who will never be honest with herself.
This foreshadowing is misleading. The narrator claims that Lucy's lies—in part to others but most of all her dishonesty with herself—put her on the path to be just like Charlotte. However, Lucy does ultimately allow herself to follow her heart and brain by marrying George. Paired with all the foreshadowing and dramatic irony that is brought about by the titles of these chapters, this foreshadowing creates one final instance of suspense for the reader. The novel seems to be going in the direction of Lucy being honest with herself and George, but the narrator doesn't want the reader to be quite certain yet. Hence the claim that Lucy enters the army of people who choose to turn their back on self-awareness and love out of fear.
