Liza [crushed by superior strength and weight] What’s to become of me?  What’s to become of me?

Higgins.  How the devil do I know what’s to become of you?  What does it matter what becomes of you?

Liza.  You don’t care.  I know you don’t care.  You wouldn’t care if I was dead.  I’m nothing to you—­not so much as them slippers.

Higgins [thundering] those slippers.

Liza [with bitter submission] Those slippers.  I didn’t think it made any difference now.

A pause.  Eliza hopeless and crushed.  Higgins a little uneasy.

Higgins [in his loftiest manner] Why have you begun going on like this?  May I ask whether you complain of your treatment here?

Liza.  No.

Higgins.  Has anybody behaved badly to you?  Colonel Pickering? 
Mrs. Pearce?  Any of the servants?

Liza.  No.

Higgins.  I presume you don’t pretend that I have treated you badly.

Liza.  No.

Higgins.  I am glad to hear it. [He moderates his tone].  Perhaps you’re tired after the strain of the day.  Will you have a glass of champagne? [He moves towards the door].

Liza.  No. [Recollecting her manners] Thank you.

Higgins [good-humored again] This has been coming on you for some days.  I suppose it was natural for you to be anxious about the garden party.  But that’s all over now. [He pats her kindly on the shoulder.  She writhes].  There’s nothing more to worry about.

Liza.  No.  Nothing more for you to worry about. [She suddenly rises and gets away from him by going to the piano bench, where she sits and hides her face].  Oh God!  I wish I was dead.

Higgins [staring after her in sincere surprise] Why? in heaven’s name, why? [Reasonably, going to her] Listen to me, Eliza.  All this irritation is purely subjective.

Liza.  I don’t understand.  I’m too ignorant.

Higgins.  It’s only imagination.  Low spirits and nothing else.  Nobody’s hurting you.  Nothing’s wrong.  You go to bed like a good girl and sleep it off.  Have a little cry and say your prayers:  that will make you comfortable.

Liza.  I heard your prayers.  “Thank God it’s all over!”

Higgins [impatiently] Well, don’t you thank God it’s all over?  Now you are free and can do what you like.

Liza [pulling herself together in desperation] What am I fit for?  What have you left me fit for?  Where am I to go?  What am I to do?  What’s to become of me?