HIGGINS. I presume you don't pretend that I have treated you
badly.

LIZA. No.

HIGGINS. I am glad to hear it. [He moderates his tone]. Perhaps
you're tired after the strain of the day. Will you have a glass
of champagne? [He moves towards the door].

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: