MISS EYNSFORD HILL. How d'you do? [She shakes].

MRS. HIGGINS [introducing] My son Henry.

MRS. EYNSFORD HILL. Your celebrated son! I have so longed to meet
you, Professor Higgins.

HIGGINS [glumly, making no movement in her direction] Delighted.
[He backs against the piano and bows brusquely].

Miss EYNSFORD HILL [going to him with confident familiarity] How
do you do?

HIGGINS [staring at her] I've seen you before somewhere. I
haven't the ghost of a notion where; but I've heard your voice.
[Drearily] It doesn't matter. You'd better sit down.

MRS. HIGGINS. I'm sorry to say that my celebrated son has no
manners. You mustn't mind him.

MISS EYNSFORD HILL [gaily] I don't. [She sits in the Elizabethan
chair].

MRS. EYNSFORD HILL [a little bewildered] Not at all. [She sits on
the ottoman between her daughter and Mrs. Higgins, who has turned
her chair away from the writing-table].

HIGGINS. Oh, have I been rude? I didn't mean to be. [He goes to
the central window, through which, with his back to the company,