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?
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.