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.
HIGGINS [stupent] WELL!!! [Recovering his breath with a gasp] What do you expect me to say to you?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Well, if you was a gentleman, you might ask me to sit down, I think. Don’t I tell you I’m bringing you business?
HIGGINS. Pickering: shall we ask this baggage to sit down or shall we throw her out of the window?
THE FLOWER GIRL [running away in terror to the piano, where she turns at bay] Ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—ow—oo! [Wounded and whimpering] I won’t be called a baggage when I’ve offered to pay like any lady.
Motionless, the two men stare at her from the other side of the room, amazed.
PICKERING [gently] What is it you want, my girl?
THE FLOWER GIRL. I want to be a lady in a flower shop stead of selling at the corner of Tottenham Court Road. But they won’t take me unless I can talk more genteel. He said he could teach me. Well, here I am ready to pay him—not asking any favor—and he treats me as if I was dirt.
MRS. PEARCE. How can you be such a foolish ignorant girl as to think you could afford to pay Mr. Higgins?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Why shouldn’t I? I know what lessons cost as well as you do; and I’m ready to pay.