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.

HIGGINS. How much?

THE FLOWER GIRL [coming back to him, triumphant] Now you're