Higgins [enlightened, but not at all impressed] Oh, that’s what’s worrying you, is it? [He thrusts his hands into his pockets, and walks about in his usual manner, rattling the contents of his pockets, as if condescending to a trivial subject out of pure kindness].  I shouldn’t bother about it if I were you.  I should imagine you won’t have much difficulty in settling yourself, somewhere or other, though I hadn’t quite realized that you were going away. [She looks quickly at him:  he does not look at her, but examines the dessert stand on the piano and decides that he will eat an apple].  You might marry, you know. [He bites a large piece out of the apple, and munches it noisily].  You see, Eliza, all men are not confirmed old bachelors like me and the Colonel.  Most men are the marrying sort (poor devils!); and you’re not bad-looking; it’s quite a pleasure to look at you sometimes—­not now, of course, because you’re crying and looking as ugly as the very devil; but when you’re all right and quite yourself, you’re what I should call attractive.  That is, to the people in the marrying line, you understand.  You go to bed and have a good nice rest; and then get up and look at yourself in the glass; and you won’t feel so cheap.

Eliza again looks at him, speechless, and does not stir.

The look is quite lost on him:  he eats his apple with a dreamy expression of happiness, as it is quite a good one.

Higgins [a genial afterthought occurring to him] I daresay my mother could find some chap or other who would do very well—­

Liza.  We were above that at the corner of Tottenham Court Road.

Higgins [waking up] What do you mean?

Liza.  I sold flowers.  I didn’t sell myself.  Now you’ve made a lady of me I’m not fit to sell anything else.  I wish you’d left me where you found me.

Higgins [slinging the core of the apple decisively into the grate] Tosh, Eliza.  Don’t you insult human relations by dragging all this cant about buying and selling into it.  You needn’t marry the fellow if you don’t like him.

Liza.  What else am I to do?

Higgins.  Oh, lots of things.  What about your old idea of a florist’s shop?  Pickering could set you up in one:  he’s lots of money. [Chuckling] He’ll have to pay for all those togs you have been wearing today; and that, with the hire of the jewellery, will make a big hole in two hundred pounds.  Why, six months ago you would have thought it the millennium to have a flower shop of your own.  Come! you’ll be all right.  I must clear off to bed:  I’m devilish sleepy.  By the way, I came down for something:  I forget what it was.

Liza.  Your slippers.

Higgins.  Oh yes, of course.  You shied them at me. [He picks them up, and is going out when she rises and speaks to him].

Liza.  Before you go, sir—­

Higgins [dropping the slippers in his surprise at her calling him sir] Eh?