CHAPTER I

xIt is Mrs. Higgins’s at-home day. Nobody has yet arrived. Herrndrawing-room, in a flat on Chelsea embankment, has three windowsrnlooking on the river; and the ceiling is not so lofty as it would be inrnan older house of the same pretension. The windows are open, givingrnaccess to a balcony with flowers in pots. If you stand with your facernto the windows, you have the fireplace on your left and the door in thernright-hand wall close to the corner nearest the windows.rnrnMrs. Higgins was brought up on Morris and Burne Jones; and her room,rnwhich is very unlike her son’s room in Wimpole Street, is not crowdedrnwith furniture and little tables and nicknacks. In the middle of thernroom there is a big ottoman; and this, with the carpet, the Morrisrnwall-papers, and the Morris chintz window curtains and brocade coversrnof the ottoman and its cushions, supply all the ornament, and are muchrntoo handsome to be hidden by odds and ends of useless things. A fewrngood oil-paintings from the exhibitions in the Grosvenor Gallery thirtyrnyears ago (the Burne Jones, not the Whistler side of them) are on thernwalls. The only landscape is a Cecil Lawson on the scale of a Rubens.rnThere is a portrait of Mrs. Higgins as she was when she defied fashionrnin her youth in one of the beautiful Rossettian costumes which, whenrncaricatured by people who did not understand, led to the absurdities ofrnpopular estheticism in the eighteen-seventies.rnrnIn the corner diagonally opposite the door Mrs. Higgins, now over sixtyrnand long past taking the trouble to dress out of the fashion, sitsrnwriting at an elegantly simple writing-table with a bell button withinrnreach of her hand. There is a Chippendale chair further back in thernroom between her and the window nearest her side. At the other side ofrnthe room, further forward, is an Elizabethan chair roughly carved inrnthe taste of Inigo Jones. On the same side a piano in a decorated case.rnThe corner between the fireplace and the window is occupied by a divanrncushioned in Morris chintz.rnrnIt is between four and five in the afternoon.rnrnThe door is opened violently; and Higgins enters with his hat on.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [dismayed] Henry [scolding him]! What are you doing herernto-day? It is my at home day: you promised not to come. [As he bends tornkiss her, she takes his hat off, and presents it to him].rnrnHIGGINS. Oh bother! [He throws the hat down on the table].rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Go home at once.rnrnHIGGINS [kissing her] I know, mother. I came on purpose.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. But you mustn’t. I’m serious, Henry. You offend all myrnfriends: they stop coming whenever they meet you.rnrnHIGGINS. Nonsense! I know I have no small talk; but people don’t mind.[He sits on the settee].rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Oh! don’t they? Small talk indeed! What about your largerntalk? Really, dear, you mustn’t stay.rnrnHIGGINS. I must. I’ve a job for you. A phonetic job.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. No use, dear. I’m sorry; but I can’t get round yourrnvowels; and though I like to get pretty postcards in your patentrnshorthand, I always have to read the copies in ordinary writing you sornthoughtfully send me.rnrnHIGGINS. Well, this isn’t a phonetic job.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. You said it was.rnrnHIGGINS. Not your part of it. I’ve picked up a girl.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Does that mean that some girl has picked you up?rnrnHIGGINS. Not at all. I don’t mean a love affair.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. What a pity!rnrnHIGGINS. Why?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Well, you never fall in love with anyone underrnforty-five. When will you discover that there are some ratherrnnice-looking young women about?rnrnHIGGINS. Oh, I can’t be bothered with young women. My idea of arnloveable woman is something as like you as possible. I shall never getrninto the way of seriously liking young women: some habits lie too deeprnto be changed. [Rising abruptly and walking about, jingling his moneyrnand his keys in his trouser pockets] Besides, they’re all idiots.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Do you know what you would do if you really loved me,rnHenry?rnrnHIGGINS. Oh bother! What? Marry, I suppose?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. No. Stop fidgeting and take your hands out of yourrnpockets. [With a gesture of despair, he obeys and sits down again].rnThat’s a good boy. Now tell me about the girl.rnrnHIGGINS. She’s coming to see you.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. I don’t remember asking her.rnrnHIGGINS. You didn’t. I asked her. If you’d known her you wouldn’t havernasked her.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Indeed! Why?rnrnHIGGINS. Well, it’s like this. She’s a common flower girl. I picked herrnoff the kerbstone.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. And invited her to my at-home!rnrnHIGGINS [rising and coming to her to coax her] Oh, that’ll be allrnright. I’ve taught her to speak properly; and she has strict orders asrnto her behavior. She’s to keep to two subjects: the weather andrneverybody’s health—Fine day and How do you do, you know—and not tornlet herself go on things in general. That will be safe.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Safe! To talk about our health! about our insides!rnperhaps about our outsides! How could you be so silly, Henry?rnrnHIGGINS [impatiently] Well, she must talk about something. [He controlsrnhimself and sits down again]. Oh, she’ll be all right: don’t you fuss.rnPickering is in it with me. I’ve a sort of bet on that I’ll pass herrnoff as a duchess in six months. I started on her some months ago; andrnshe’s getting on like a house on fire. I shall win my bet. She has arnquick ear; and she’s been easier to teach than my middle-class pupilsrnbecause she’s had to learn a complete new language. She talks Englishrnalmost as you talk French.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. That’s satisfactory, at all events.rnrnHIGGINS. Well, it is and it isn’t.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. What does that mean?rnrnHIGGINS. You see, I’ve got her pronunciation all right; but you have tornconsider not only how a girl pronounces, but what she pronounces; andrnthat’s where—rnrnThey are interrupted by the parlor-maid, announcing guests.rnrnTHE PARLOR-MAID. Mrs. and Miss Eynsford Hill. [She withdraws].rnrnHIGGINS. Oh Lord! [He rises; snatches his hat from the table; and makesrnfor the door; but before he reaches it his mother introduces him].rnrnMrs. and Miss Eynsford Hill are the mother and daughter who shelteredrnfrom the rain in Covent Garden. The mother is well bred, quiet, and hasrnthe habitual anxiety of straitened means. The daughter has acquired arngay air of being very much at home in society: the bravado of genteelrnpoverty.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [to Mrs. Higgins] How do you do? [They shake hands].rnrnMISS EYNSFORD HILL. How d’you do? [She shakes].rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [introducing] My son Henry.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. Your celebrated son! I have so longed to meet you,rnProfessor Higgins.rnrnHIGGINS [glumly, making no movement in her direction] Delighted. [Hernbacks against the piano and bows brusquely].rnrnMiss EYNSFORD HILL [going to him with confident familiarity] How do yourndo?rnrnHIGGINS [staring at her] I’ve seen you before somewhere. I haven’t thernghost of a notion where; but I’ve heard your voice. [Drearily] Itrndoesn’t matter. You’d better sit down.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. I’m sorry to say that my celebrated son has no manners.rnYou mustn’t mind him.rnrnMISS EYNSFORD HILL [gaily] I don’t. [She sits in the Elizabethan chair].rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [a little bewildered] Not at all. [She sits on thernottoman between her daughter and Mrs. Higgins, who has turned her chairrnaway from the writing-table].rnrnHIGGINS. Oh, have I been rude? I didn’t mean to be. [He goes to therncentral window, through which, with his back to the company, herncontemplates the river and the flowers in Battersea Park on thernopposite bank as if they were a frozen dessert.]rnrnThe parlor-maid returns, ushering in Pickering.rnrnTHE PARLOR-MAID. Colonel Pickering [She withdraws].rnrnPICKERING. How do you do, Mrs. Higgins?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. So glad you’ve come. Do you know Mrs. Eynsford Hill—MissrnEynsford Hill? [Exchange of bows. The Colonel brings the Chippendalernchair a little forward between Mrs. Hill and Mrs. Higgins, and sitsrndown].rnrnPICKERING. Has Henry told you what we’ve come for?rnrnHIGGINS [over his shoulder] We were interrupted: damn it!rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Oh Henry, Henry, really!rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [half rising] Are we in the way?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [rising and making her sit down again] No, no. Yourncouldn’t have come more fortunately: we want you to meet a friend ofrnours.rnrnHIGGINS [turning hopefully] Yes, by George! We want two or threernpeople. You’ll do as well as anybody else.rnrnThe parlor-maid returns, ushering Freddy.rnrnTHE PARLOR-MAID. Mr. Eynsford Hill.rnrnHIGGINS [almost audibly, past endurance] God of Heaven! another of them.rnrnFREDDY [shaking hands with Mrs. Higgins] Ahdedo?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Very good of you to come. [Introducing] Colonel Pickering.rnrnFREDDY [bowing] Ahdedo?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. I don’t think you know my son, Professor Higgins.rnrnFREDDY [going to Higgins] Ahdedo?rnrnHIGGINS [looking at him much as if he were a pickpocket] I’ll take myrnoath I’ve met you before somewhere. Where was it?rnrnFREDDY. I don’t think so.rnrnHIGGINS [resignedly] It don’t matter, anyhow. Sit down. He shakesrnFreddy’s hand, and almost slings him on the ottoman with his face tornthe windows; then comes round to the other side of it.rnrnHIGGINS. Well, here we are, anyhow! [He sits down on the ottoman nextrnMrs. Eynsford Hill, on her left.] And now, what the devil are we goingrnto talk about until Eliza comes?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Henry: you are the life and soul of the Royal Society’srnsoirees; but really you’re rather trying on more commonplace occasions.rnrnHIGGINS. Am I? Very sorry. [Beaming suddenly] I suppose I am, you know.[Uproariously] Ha, ha!rnrnMISS EYNSFORD HILL [who considers Higgins quite eligible matrimonially]rnI sympathize. I haven’t any small talk. If people would only be frankrnand say what they really think!rnrnHIGGINS [relapsing into gloom] Lord forbid!rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [taking up her daughter’s cue] But why?rnrnHIGGINS. What they think they ought to think is bad enough, Lord knows;rnbut what they really think would break up the whole show. Do yournsuppose it would be really agreeable if I were to come out now withrnwhat I really think?rnrnMISS EYNSFORD HILL [gaily] Is it so very cynical?rnrnHIGGINS. Cynical! Who the dickens said it was cynical? I mean itrnwouldn’t be decent.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [seriously] Oh! I’m sure you don’t mean that, Mr.rnHiggins.rnrnHIGGINS. You see, we’re all savages, more or less. We’re supposed to berncivilized and cultured—to know all about poetry and philosophy and artrnand science, and so on; but how many of us know even the meanings ofrnthese names? [To Miss Hill] What do you know of poetry? [To Mrs. Hill]rnWhat do you know of science? [Indicating Freddy] What does he know ofrnart or science or anything else? What the devil do you imagine I knowrnof philosophy?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [warningly] Or of manners, Henry?rnrnTHE PARLOR-MAID [opening the door] Miss Doolittle. [She withdraws].rnrnHIGGINS [rising hastily and running to Mrs. Higgins] Here she is,rnmother. [He stands on tiptoe and makes signs over his mother’s head tornEliza to indicate to her which lady is her hostess].rnrnEliza, who is exquisitely dressed, produces an impression of suchrnremarkable distinction and beauty as she enters that they all rise,rnquite flustered. Guided by Higgins’s signals, she comes to Mrs. Higginsrnwith studied grace.rnrnLIZA [speaking with pedantic correctness of pronunciation and greatrnbeauty of tone] How do you do, Mrs. Higgins? [She gasps slightly inrnmaking sure of the H in Higgins, but is quite successful]. Mr. Higginsrntold me I might come.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [cordially] Quite right: I’m very glad indeed to see you.rnrnPICKERING. How do you do, Miss Doolittle?rnrnLIZA [shaking hands with him] Colonel Pickering, is it not?rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. I feel sure we have met before, Miss Doolittle. Irnremember your eyes.rnrnLIZA. How do you do? [She sits down on the ottoman gracefully in thernplace just left vacant by Higgins].rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [introducing] My daughter Clara.rnrnLIZA. How do you do?rnrnCLARA [impulsively] How do you do? [She sits down on the ottoman besidernEliza, devouring her with her eyes].rnrnFREDDY [coming to their side of the ottoman] I’ve certainly had thernpleasure.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [introducing] My son Freddy.rnrnLIZA. How do you do?rnrnFreddy bows and sits down in the Elizabethan chair, infatuated.rnrnHIGGINS [suddenly] By George, yes: it all comes back to me! [They starernat him]. Covent Garden! [Lamentably] What a damned thing!rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Henry, please! [He is about to sit on the edge of therntable]. Don’t sit on my writing-table: you’ll break it.rnrnHIGGINS [sulkily] Sorry.rnrnHe goes to the divan, stumbling into the fender and over the fire-ironsrnon his way; extricating himself with muttered imprecations; andrnfinishing his disastrous journey by throwing himself so impatiently onrnthe divan that he almost breaks it. Mrs. Higgins looks at him, butrncontrols herself and says nothing.rnrnA long and painful pause ensues.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [at last, conversationally] Will it rain, do you think?rnrnLIZA. The shallow depression in the west of these islands is likely tornmove slowly in an easterly direction. There are no indications of anyrngreat change in the barometrical situation.rnrnFREDDY. Ha! ha! how awfully funny!rnrnLIZA. What is wrong with that, young man? I bet I got it right.rnrnFREDDY. Killing!rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. I’m sure I hope it won’t turn cold. There’s so muchrninfluenza about. It runs right through our whole family regularly everyrnspring.rnrnLIZA [darkly] My aunt died of influenza: so they said.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [clicks her tongue sympathetically]!!!rnrnLIZA [in the same tragic tone] But it’s my belief they done the oldrnwoman in.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [puzzled] Done her in?rnrnLIZA. Y-e-e-e-es, Lord love you! Why should she die of influenza? Sherncome through diphtheria right enough the year before. I saw her with myrnown eyes. Fairly blue with it, she was. They all thought she was dead;rnbut my father he kept ladling gin down her throat til she came to sornsudden that she bit the bowl off the spoon.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [startled] Dear me!rnrnLIZA [piling up the indictment] What call would a woman with thatrnstrength in her have to die of influenza? What become of her new strawrnhat that should have come to me? Somebody pinched it; and what I sayrnis, them as pinched it done her in.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. What does doing her in mean?rnrnHIGGINS [hastily] Oh, that’s the new small talk. To do a person inrnmeans to kill them.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [to Eliza, horrified] You surely don’t believe thatrnyour aunt was killed?rnrnLIZA. Do I not! Them she lived with would have killed her for arnhat-pin, let alone a hat.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. But it can’t have been right for your father tornpour spirits down her throat like that. It might have killed her.rnrnLIZA. Not her. Gin was mother’s milk to her. Besides, he’d poured sornmuch down his own throat that he knew the good of it.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. Do you mean that he drank?rnrnLIZA. Drank! My word! Something chronic.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. How dreadful for you!rnrnLIZA. Not a bit. It never did him no harm what I could see. But then herndid not keep it up regular. [Cheerfully] On the burst, as you mightrnsay, from time to time. And always more agreeable when he had a droprnin. When he was out of work, my mother used to give him fourpence andrntell him to go out and not come back until he’d drunk himself cheerfulrnand loving-like. There’s lots of women has to make their husbands drunkrnto make them fit to live with. [Now quite at her ease] You see, it’srnlike this. If a man has a bit of a conscience, it always takes him whenrnhe’s sober; and then it makes him low-spirited. A drop of booze justrntakes that off and makes him happy. [To Freddy, who is in convulsionsrnof suppressed laughter] Here! what are you sniggering at?rnrnFREDDY. The new small talk. You do it so awfully well.rnrnLIZA. If I was doing it proper, what was you laughing at? [To Higgins]rnHave I said anything I oughtn’t?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [interposing] Not at all, Miss Doolittle.rnrnLIZA. Well, that’s a mercy, anyhow. [Expansively] What I always say is—rnrnHIGGINS [rising and looking at his watch] Ahem!rnrnLIZA [looking round at him; taking the hint; and rising] Well: I mustrngo. [They all rise. Freddy goes to the door]. So pleased to have metrnyou. Good-bye. [She shakes hands with Mrs. Higgins].rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Good-bye.rnrnLIZA. Good-bye, Colonel Pickering.rnrnPICKERING. Good-bye, Miss Doolittle. [They shake hands].rnrnLIZA [nodding to the others] Good-bye, all.rnrnFREDDY [opening the door for her] Are you walking across the Park, MissrnDoolittle? If so—rnrnLIZA. Walk! Not bloody likely. [Sensation]. I am going in a taxi. [Sherngoes out].rnrnPickering gasps and sits down. Freddy goes out on the balcony to catchrnanother glimpse of Eliza.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [suffering from shock] Well, I really can’t get usedrnto the new ways.rnrnCLARA [throwing herself discontentedly into the Elizabethan chair]. Oh,rnit’s all right, mamma, quite right. People will think we never gornanywhere or see anybody if you are so old-fashioned.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. I daresay I am very old-fashioned; but I do hopernyou won’t begin using that expression, Clara. I have got accustomed tornhear you talking about men as rotters, and calling everything filthyrnand beastly; though I do think it horrible and unladylike. But thisrnlast is really too much. Don’t you think so, Colonel Pickering?rnrnPICKERING. Don’t ask me. I’ve been away in India for several years; andrnmanners have changed so much that I sometimes don’t know whether I’m atrna respectable dinner-table or in a ship’s forecastle.rnrnCLARA. It’s all a matter of habit. There’s no right or wrong in it.rnNobody means anything by it. And it’s so quaint, and gives such a smartrnemphasis to things that are not in themselves very witty. I find thernnew small talk delightful and quite innocent.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [rising] Well, after that, I think it’s time for usrnto go.rnrnPickering and Higgins rise.rnrnCLARA [rising] Oh yes: we have three at homes to go to still. Good-bye,rnMrs. Higgins. Good-bye, Colonel Pickering. Good-bye, Professor Higgins.rnrnHIGGINS [coming grimly at her from the divan, and accompanying her tornthe door] Good-bye. Be sure you try on that small talk at the threernat-homes. Don’t be nervous about it. Pitch it in strong.rnrnCLARA [all smiles] I will. Good-bye. Such nonsense, all this earlyrnVictorian prudery!rnrnHIGGINS [tempting her] Such damned nonsense!rnrnCLARA. Such bloody nonsense!rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [convulsively] Clara!rnrnCLARA. Ha! ha! [She goes out radiant, conscious of being thoroughly uprnto date, and is heard descending the stairs in a stream of silveryrnlaughter].rnrnFREDDY [to the heavens at large] Well, I ask you [He gives it up, andrncomes to Mrs. Higgins]. Good-bye.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [shaking hands] Good-bye. Would you like to meet MissrnDoolittle again?rnrnFREDDY [eagerly] Yes, I should, most awfully.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Well, you know my days.rnrnFREDDY. Yes. Thanks awfully. Good-bye. [He goes out].rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. Good-bye, Mr. Higgins.rnrnHIGGINS. Good-bye. Good-bye.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [to Pickering] It’s no use. I shall never be able tornbring myself to use that word.rnrnPICKERING. Don’t. It’s not compulsory, you know. You’ll get on quiternwell without it.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. Only, Clara is so down on me if I am not positivelyrnreeking with the latest slang. Good-bye.rnrnPICKERING. Good-bye [They shake hands].rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL [to Mrs. Higgins] You mustn’t mind Clara.[Pickering, catching from her lowered tone that this is not meant forrnhim to hear, discreetly joins Higgins at the window]. We’re so poor!rnand she gets so few parties, poor child! She doesn’t quite know. [Mrs.rnHiggins, seeing that her eyes are moist, takes her hand sympatheticallyrnand goes with her to the door]. But the boy is nice. Don’t you think so?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Oh, quite nice. I shall always be delighted to see him.rnrnMRS. EYNSFORD HILL. Thank you, dear. Good-bye. [She goes out].rnrnHIGGINS [eagerly] Well? Is Eliza presentable [he swoops on his motherrnand drags her to the ottoman, where she sits down in Eliza’s place withrnher son on her left]?rnrnPickering returns to his chair on her right.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. You silly boy, of course she’s not presentable. She’s arntriumph of your art and of her dressmaker’s; but if you suppose for arnmoment that she doesn’t give herself away in every sentence she utters,rnyou must be perfectly cracked about her.rnrnPICKERING. But don’t you think something might be done? I meanrnsomething to eliminate the sanguinary element from her conversation.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Not as long as she is in Henry’s hands.rnrnHIGGINS [aggrieved] Do you mean that my language is improper?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. No, dearest: it would be quite proper—say on a canalrnbarge; but it would not be proper for her at a garden party.rnrnHIGGINS [deeply injured] Well I must say—rnrnPICKERING [interrupting him] Come, Higgins: you must learn to knowrnyourself. I haven’t heard such language as yours since we used tornreview the volunteers in Hyde Park twenty years ago.rnrnHIGGINS [sulkily] Oh, well, if you say so, I suppose I don’t alwaysrntalk like a bishop.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [quieting Henry with a touch] Colonel Pickering: will yourntell me what is the exact state of things in Wimpole Street?rnrnPICKERING [cheerfully: as if this completely changed the subject] Well,rnI have come to live there with Henry. We work together at my IndianrnDialects; and we think it more convenient—rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Quite so. I know all about that: it’s an excellentrnarrangement. But where does this girl live?rnrnHIGGINS. With us, of course. Where would she live?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. But on what terms? Is she a servant? If not, what is she?rnrnPICKERING [slowly] I think I know what you mean, Mrs. Higgins.rnrnHIGGINS. Well, dash me if I do! I’ve had to work at the girl every dayrnfor months to get her to her present pitch. Besides, she’s useful. Shernknows where my things are, and remembers my appointments and so forth.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. How does your housekeeper get on with her?rnrnHIGGINS. Mrs. Pearce? Oh, she’s jolly glad to get so much taken off herrnhands; for before Eliza came, she had to have to find things and remindrnme of my appointments. But she’s got some silly bee in her bonnet aboutrnEliza. She keeps saying “You don’t think, sir”: doesn’t she, Pick?rnrnPICKERING. Yes: that’s the formula. “You don’t think, sir.” That’s thernend of every conversation about Eliza.rnrnHIGGINS. As if I ever stop thinking about the girl and her confoundedrnvowels and consonants. I’m worn out, thinking about her, and watchingrnher lips and her teeth and her tongue, not to mention her soul, whichrnis the quaintest of the lot.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. You certainly are a pretty pair of babies, playing withrnyour live doll.rnrnHIGGINS. Playing! The hardest job I ever tackled: make no mistake aboutrnthat, mother. But you have no idea how frightfully interesting it is torntake a human being and change her into a quite different human being byrncreating a new speech for her. It’s filling up the deepest gulf thatrnseparates class from class and soul from soul.rnrnPICKERING [drawing his chair closer to Mrs. Higgins and bending over tornher eagerly] Yes: it’s enormously interesting. I assure you, Mrs.rnHiggins, we take Eliza very seriously. Every week—every dayrnalmost—there is some new change. [Closer again] We keep records ofrnevery stage—dozens of gramophone disks and photographs—rnrnHIGGINS [assailing her at the other ear] Yes, by George: it’s the mostrnabsorbing experiment I ever tackled. She regularly fills our lives up;rndoesn’t she, Pick?rnrnPICKERING. We’re always talking Eliza.rnrnHIGGINS. Teaching Eliza.rnrnPICKERING. Dressing Eliza.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. What!rnrnHIGGINS. Inventing new Elizas.rnrnHiggins and Pickering, speaking together:rnrn HIGGINS. You know, she has the most extraordinary quickness of ear: PICKERING. I assure you, my dear Mrs. Higgins, that girlrn HIGGINS. just like a parrot. I’ve tried her with everyrn PICKERING. is a genius. She can play the piano quite beautifullyrn HIGGINS. possible sort of sound that a human being can make— PICKERING. We have taken her to classical concerts and to musicrn HIGGINS. Continental dialects, African dialects, Hottentotrn PICKERING. halls; and it’s all the same to her: she plays everythingrn HIGGINS. clicks, things it took me years to get hold of; andrn PICKERING. she hears right off when she comes home, whether it’srn HIGGINS. she picks them up like a shot, right away, as if she hadrn PICKERING. Beethoven and Brahms or Lehar and Lionel Morickton; HIGGINS. been at it all her life. PICKERING. though six months ago, she’d never as much as touchedrn a piano.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [putting her fingers in her ears, as they are by this timernshouting one another down with an intolerable noise] Sh—sh—sh—sh![They stop].rnrnPICKERING. I beg your pardon. [He draws his chair back apologetically].rnrnHIGGINS. Sorry. When Pickering starts shouting nobody can get a word inrnedgeways.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. Be quiet, Henry. Colonel Pickering: don’t you realizernthat when Eliza walked into Wimpole Street, something walked in withrnher?rnrnPICKERING. Her father did. But Henry soon got rid of him.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. It would have been more to the point if her mother had.rnBut as her mother didn’t something else did.rnrnPICKERING. But what?rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [unconsciously dating herself by the word] A problem.rnrnPICKERING. Oh, I see. The problem of how to pass her off as a lady.rnrnHIGGINS. I’ll solve that problem. I’ve half solved it already.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. No, you two infinitely stupid male creatures: the problemrnof what is to be done with her afterwards.rnrnHIGGINS. I don’t see anything in that. She can go her own way, with allrnthe advantages I have given her.rnrnMRS. HIGGINS. The advantages of that poor woman who was here just now!rnThe manners and habits that disqualify a fine lady from earning her ownrnliving without giving her a fine lady’s income! Is that what you mean?rnrnPICKERING [indulgently, being rather bored] Oh, that will be all right,rnMrs. Higgins. [He rises to go].rnrnHIGGINS [rising also] We’ll find her some light employment.rnrnPICKERING. She’s happy enough. Don’t you worry about her. Good-bye. [Hernshakes hands as if he were consoling a frightened child, and makes forrnthe door].rnrnHIGGINS. Anyhow, there’s no good bothering now. The thing’s done.rnGood-bye, mother. [He kisses her, and follows Pickering].rnrnPICKERING [turning for a final consolation] There are plenty ofrnopenings. We’ll do what’s right. Good-bye.rnrnHIGGINS [to Pickering as they go out together] Let’s take her to thernShakespear exhibition at Earls Court.rnrnPICKERING. Yes: let’s. Her remarks will be delicious.rnrnHIGGINS. She’ll mimic all the people for us when we get home.rnrnPICKERING. Ripping. [Both are heard laughing as they go downstairs].rnrnMRS. HIGGINS [rises with an impatient bounce, and returns to her workrnat the writing-table. She sweeps a litter of disarranged papers out ofrnher way; snatches a sheet of paper from her stationery case; and triesrnresolutely to write. At the third line she gives it up; flings down herrnpen; grips the table angrily and exclaims] Oh, men! men!! men!!!rnrn