Mrs. Pearce opens the door.  She has Eliza’s hat in her hand.  Pickering retires to the easy-chair at the hearth and sits down.

Higgins [eagerly] Well, Mrs. Pearce:  is it all right?

Mrs. Pearce [at the door] I just wish to trouble you with a word, if I may, Mr. Higgins.

Higgins.  Yes, certainly.  Come in. [She comes forward].  Don’t burn that, Mrs. Pearce.  I’ll keep it as a curiosity. [He takes the hat].

Mrs. Pearce.  Handle it carefully, sir, please.  I had to promise her not to burn it; but I had better put it in the oven for a while.

Higgins [putting it down hastily on the piano] Oh! thank you.  Well, what have you to say to me?

Pickering.  Am I in the way?

Mrs. Pearce.  Not at all, sir.  Mr. Higgins:  will you please be very particular what you say before the girl?

Higgins [sternly] Of course.  I’m always particular about what I say.  Why do you say this to me?

Mrs. Pearce [unmoved] No, sir:  you’re not at all particular when you’ve mislaid anything or when you get a little impatient.  Now it doesn’t matter before me:  I’m used to it.  But you really must not swear before the girl.

Higgins [indignantly] I swear! [Most emphatically] I never swear.  I detest the habit.  What the devil do you mean?

Mrs. Pearce [stolidly] That’s what I mean, sir.  You swear a great deal too much.  I don’t mind your damning and blasting, and what the devil and where the devil and who the devil—­

Higgins.  Really!  Mrs. Pearce:  this language from your lips!

Mrs. Pearce [not to be put off]—­but there is a certain word I must ask you not to use.  The girl has just used it herself because the bath was too hot.  It begins with the same letter as bath.  She knows no better:  she learnt it at her mother’s knee.  But she must not hear it from your lips.

Higgins [loftily] I cannot charge myself with having ever uttered it, Mrs. Pearce. [She looks at him steadfastly.  He adds, hiding an uneasy conscience with a judicial air] Except perhaps in a moment of extreme and justifiable excitement.

Mrs. Pearce.  Only this morning, sir, you applied it to your boots, to the butter, and to the brown bread.

Higgins.  Oh, that!  Mere alliteration, Mrs. Pearce, natural to a poet.

Mrs. Pearce.  Well, sir, whatever you choose to call it, I beg you not to let the girl hear you repeat it.

Higgins.  Oh, very well, very well.  Is that all?

Mrs. Pearce.  No, sir.  We shall have to be very particular with this girl as to personal cleanliness.

Higgins.  Certainly.  Quite right.  Most important.

Mrs. Pearce.  I mean not to be slovenly about her dress or untidy in leaving things about.