HIGGINS [sulkily] Sorry.

He goes to the divan, stumbling into the fender and over the
fire-irons on his way; extricating himself with muttered
imprecations; and finishing his disastrous journey by throwing
himself so impatiently on the divan that he almost breaks it.
Mrs. Higgins looks at him, but controls herself and says nothing.

A long and painful pause ensues.

MRS. HIGGINS [at last, conversationally] Will it rain, do you
think?

LIZA. The shallow depression in the west of these islands is
likely to move slowly in an easterly direction. There are no
indications of any great change in the barometrical situation.

FREDDY. Ha! ha! how awfully funny!

LIZA. What is wrong with that, young man? I bet I got it right.

FREDDY. Killing!

MRS. EYNSFORD HILL. I'm sure I hope it won't turn cold. There's
so much influenza about. It runs right through our whole family
regularly every spring.

LIZA [darkly] My aunt died of influenza: so they said.