Mrs. Pearce.  Well, sir, she says you’ll be glad to see her when you know what she’s come about.  She’s quite a common girl, sir.  Very common indeed.  I should have sent her away, only I thought perhaps you wanted her to talk into your machines.  I hope I’ve not done wrong; but really you see such queer people sometimes—­ you’ll excuse me, I’m sure, sir—­

Higgins.  Oh, that’s all right, Mrs. Pearce.  Has she an interesting accent?

Mrs. Pearce.  Oh, something dreadful, sir, really.  I don’t know how you can take an interest in it.

Higgins [to Pickering] Let’s have her up.  Show her up, Mrs. Pearce [he rushes across to his working table and picks out a cylinder to use on the phonograph].

Mrs. Pearce [only half resigned to it] Very well, sir.  It’s for you to say. [She goes downstairs].

Higgins.  This is rather a bit of luck.  I’ll show you how I make records.  We’ll set her talking; and I’ll take it down first in Bell’s visible Speech; then in broad Romic; and then we’ll get her on the phonograph so that you can turn her on as often as you like with the written transcript before you.

Mrs. Pearce [returning] This is the young woman, sir.

The flower girl enters in state.  She has a hat with three ostrich feathers, orange, sky-blue, and red.  She has a nearly clean apron, and the shoddy coat has been tidied a little.  The pathos of this deplorable figure, with its innocent vanity and consequential air, touches Pickering, who has already straightened himself in the presence of Mrs. Pearce.  But as to Higgins, the only distinction he makes between men and women is that when he is neither bullying nor exclaiming to the heavens against some featherweight cross, he coaxes women as a child coaxes its nurse when it wants to get anything out of her.

Higgins [brusquely, recognizing her with unconcealed disappointment, and at once, baby-like, making an intolerable grievance of it] Why, this is the girl I jotted down last night.  She’s no use:  I’ve got all the records I want of the Lisson Grove lingo; and I’m not going to waste another cylinder on it. [To the girl] Be off with you:  I don’t want you.

The flower girl.  Don’t you be so saucy.  You ain’t heard what I come for yet. [To Mrs. Pearce, who is waiting at the door for further instruction] Did you tell him I come in a taxi?

Mrs. Pearce.  Nonsense, girl! what do you think a gentleman like Mr. Higgins cares what you came in?

The flower girl.  Oh, we are proud!  He ain’t above giving lessons, not him:  I heard him say so.  Well, I ain’t come here to ask for any compliment; and if my money’s not good enough I can go elsewhere.

Higgins.  Good enough for what?

The flower girl.  Good enough for ye—­oo.  Now you know, don’t you?  I’m come to have lessons, I am.  And to pay for em too:  make no mistake.