Books: Pygmalion

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THE FLOWER GIRL. Let him mind his own business and leave a poor
girl--

THE NOTE TAKER [explosively] Woman: cease this detestable
boohooing instantly; or else seek the shelter of some other place
of worship.

THE FLOWER GIRL [with feeble defiance] I've a right to be here if
I like, same as you.

THE NOTE TAKER. A woman who utters such depressing and disgusting
sounds has no right to be anywhere--no right to live. Remember
that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of
articulate speech: that your native language is the language of
Shakespear and Milton and The Bible; and don't sit there crooning
like a bilious pigeon.

THE FLOWER GIRL [quite overwhelmed, and looking up at him in
mingled wonder and deprecation without daring to raise her head]
Ah--ah--ah--ow--ow--oo!

THE NOTE TAKER [whipping out his book] Heavens! what a sound! [He
writes; then holds out the book and reads, reproducing her vowels
exactly] Ah--ah--ah--ow--ow--ow--oo!

THE FLOWER GIRL [tickled by the performance, and laughing in
spite of herself] Garn!

THE NOTE TAKER. You see this creature with her kerbstone English:
the English that will keep her in the gutter to the end of her
days. Well, sir, in three months I could pass that girl off as a
duchess at an ambassador's garden party. I could even get her a
place as lady's maid or shop assistant, which requires better
English. That's the sort of thing I do for commercial
millionaires. And on the profits of it I do genuine scientific
work in phonetics, and a little as a poet on Miltonic lines.

THE GENTLEMAN. I am myself a student of Indian dialects; and--

THE NOTE TAKER [eagerly] Are you? Do you know Colonel Pickering,
the author of Spoken Sanscrit?

THE GENTLEMAN. I am Colonel Pickering. Who are you?

THE NOTE TAKER. Henry Higgins, author of Higgins's Universal
Alphabet.

PICKERING [with enthusiasm] I came from India to meet you.

HIGGINS. I was going to India to meet you.

PICKERING. Where do you live?

HIGGINS. 27A Wimpole Street. Come and see me tomorrow.

PICKERING. I'm at the Carlton. Come with me now and let's have a
jaw over some supper.

HIGGINS. Right you are.

THE FLOWER GIRL [to Pickering, as he passes her] Buy a flower,
kind gentleman. I'm short for my lodging.

PICKERING. I really haven't any change. I'm sorry [he goes away].

HIGGINS [shocked at girl's mendacity] Liar. You said you could
change half-a-crown.

THE FLOWER GIRL [rising in desperation] You ought to be stuffed
with nails, you ought. [Flinging the basket at his feet] Take the
whole blooming basket for sixpence.

The church clock strikes the second quarter.

HIGGINS [hearing in it the voice of God, rebuking him for his
Pharisaic want of charity to the poor girl] A reminder. [He
raises his hat solemnly; then throws a handful of money into the
basket and follows Pickering].

THE FLOWER GIRL [picking up a half-crown] Ah--ow--ooh! [Picking
up a couple of florins] Aaah--ow--ooh! [Picking up several coins]
Aaaaaah--ow--ooh! [Picking up a half-sovereign] Aasaaaaaaaaah--
ow--ooh!!!

FREDDY [springing out of a taxicab] Got one at last. Hallo! [To
the girl] Where are the two ladies that were here?

THE FLOWER GIRL. They walked to the bus when the rain stopped.

FREDDY. And left me with a cab on my hands. Damnation!

THE FLOWER GIRL [with grandeur] Never you mind, young man. I'm
going home in a taxi. [She sails off to the cab. The driver puts
his hand behind him and holds the door firmly shut against her.
Quite understanding his mistrust, she shows him her handful of
money]. Eightpence ain't no object to me, Charlie. [He grins and
opens the door]. Angel Court, Drury Lane, round the corner of
Micklejohn's oil shop. Let's see how fast you can make her hop
it. [She gets in and pulls the door to with a slam as the taxicab
starts].

FREDDY. Well, I'm dashed!

ACT II

Next day at 11 a.m. Higgins's laboratory in Wimpole Street. It
is a room on the first floor, looking on the street, and was
meant for the drawing-room. The double doors are in the middle of
the back hall; and persons entering find in the corner to their
right two tall file cabinets at right angles to one another
against the walls. In this corner stands a flat writing-table, on
which are a phonograph, a laryngoscope, a row of tiny organ pipes
with a bellows, a set of lamp chimneys for singing flames with
burners attached to a gas plug in the wall by an indiarubber
tube, several tuning-forks of different sizes, a life-size image
of half a human head, showing in section the vocal organs, and a
box containing a supply of wax cylinders for the phonograph.

Further down the room, on the same side, is a fireplace, with a
comfortable leather-covered easy-chair at the side of the hearth
nearest the door, and a coal-scuttle. There is a clock on the
mantelpiece. Between the fireplace and the phonograph table is a
stand for newspapers.

On the other side of the central door, to the left of the
visitor, is a cabinet of shallow drawers. On it is a telephone
and the telephone directory. The corner beyond, and most of the
side wall, is occupied by a grand piano, with the keyboard at the
end furthest from the door, and a bench for the player extending
the full length of the keyboard. On the piano is a dessert dish
heaped with fruit and sweets, mostly chocolates.

The middle of the room is clear. Besides the easy chair, the
piano bench, and two chairs at the phonograph table, there is one
stray chair. It stands near the fireplace. On the walls,
engravings; mostly Piranesis and mezzotint portraits. No
paintings.

Pickering is seated at the table, putting down some cards and a
tuning-fork which he has been using. Higgins is standing up near
him, closing two or three file drawers which are hanging out. He
appears in the morning light as a robust, vital, appetizing sort
of man of forty or thereabouts, dressed in a professional-looking
black frock-coat with a white linen collar and black silk tie. He
is of the energetic, scientific type, heartily, even violently
interested in everything that can be studied as a scientific
subject, and careless about himself and other people, including
their feelings. He is, in fact, but for his years and size,
rather like a very impetuous baby "taking notice" eagerly and
loudly, and requiring almost as much watching to keep him out of
unintended mischief. His manner varies from genial bullying when
he is in a good humor to stormy petulance when anything goes
wrong; but he is so entirely frank and void of malice that he
remains likeable even in his least reasonable moments.

HIGGINS [as he shuts the last drawer] Well, I think that's the
whole show.

PICKERING. It's really amazing. I haven't taken half of it in,
you know.

HIGGINS. Would you like to go over any of it again?

PICKERING [rising and coming to the fireplace, where he plants
himself with his back to the fire] No, thank you; not now. I'm
quite done up for this morning.

HIGGINS [following him, and standing beside him on his left]
Tired of listening to sounds?

PICKERING. Yes. It's a fearful strain. I rather fancied myself
because I can pronounce twenty-four distinct vowel sounds; but
your hundred and thirty beat me. I can't hear a bit of difference
between most of them.

HIGGINS [chuckling, and going over to the piano to eat sweets]
Oh, that comes with practice. You hear no difference at first;
but you keep on listening, and presently you find they're all as
different as A from B. [Mrs. Pearce looks in: she is Higgins's
housekeeper] What's the matter?

MRS. PEARCE [hesitating, evidently perplexed] A young woman wants
to see you, sir.

HIGGINS. A young woman! What does she want?

MRS. PEARCE. Well, sir, she says you'll be glad to see her when
you know what she's come about. She's quite a common girl, sir.
Very common indeed. I should have sent her away, only I thought
perhaps you wanted her to talk into your machines. I hope I've
not done wrong; but really you see such queer people sometimes--
you'll excuse me, I'm sure, sir--

HIGGINS. Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pearce. Has she an
interesting accent?

MRS. PEARCE. Oh, something dreadful, sir, really. I don't know
how you can take an interest in it.

HIGGINS [to Pickering] Let's have her up. Show her up, Mrs.
Pearce [he rushes across to his working table and picks out a
cylinder to use on the phonograph].

MRS. PEARCE [only half resigned to it] Very well, sir. It's for
you to say. [She goes downstairs].

HIGGINS. This is rather a bit of luck. I'll show you how I make
records. We'll set her talking; and I'll take it down first in
Bell's visible Speech; then in broad Romic; and then we'll get
her on the phonograph so that you can turn her on as often as you
like with the written transcript before you.

MRS. PEARCE [returning] This is the young woman, sir.

The flower girl enters in state. She has a hat with three ostrich
feathers, orange, sky-blue, and red. She has a nearly clean
apron, and the shoddy coat has been tidied a little. The pathos
of this deplorable figure, with its innocent vanity and
consequential air, touches Pickering, who has already
straightened himself in the presence of Mrs. Pearce. But as to
Higgins, the only distinction he makes between men and women is
that when he is neither bullying nor exclaiming to the heavens
against some featherweight cross, he coaxes women as a child
coaxes its nurse when it wants to get anything out of her.

HIGGINS [brusquely, recognizing her with unconcealed
disappointment, and at once, baby-like, making an intolerable
grievance of it] Why, this is the girl I jotted down last night.
She's no use: I've got all the records I want of the Lisson Grove
lingo; and I'm not going to waste another cylinder on it. [To the
girl] Be off with you: I don't want you.

THE FLOWER GIRL. Don't you be so saucy. You ain't heard what I
come for yet. [To Mrs. Pearce, who is waiting at the door for
further instruction] Did you tell him I come in a taxi?

MRS. PEARCE. Nonsense, girl! what do you think a gentleman like
Mr. Higgins cares what you came in?

THE FLOWER GIRL. Oh, we are proud! He ain't above giving lessons,
not him: I heard him say so. Well, I ain't come here to ask for
any compliment; and if my money's not good enough I can go
elsewhere.

HIGGINS. Good enough for what?

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.

HIGGINS. How much?

THE FLOWER GIRL [coming back to him, triumphant] Now you're
talking! I thought you'd come off it when you saw a chance of
getting back a bit of what you chucked at me last night.
[Confidentially] You'd had a drop in, hadn't you?

HIGGINS [peremptorily] Sit down.

THE FLOWER GIRL. Oh, if you're going to make a compliment of it--

HIGGINS [thundering at her] Sit down.

MRS. PEARCE [severely] Sit down, girl. Do as you're told. [She
places the stray chair near the hearthrug between Higgins and
Pickering, and stands behind it waiting for the girl to sit
down].

THE FLOWER GIRL. Ah--ah--ah--ow--ow--oo! [She stands, half
rebellious, half bewildered].

PICKERING [very courteous] Won't you sit down?

LIZA [coyly] Don't mind if I do. [She sits down. Pickering
returns to the hearthrug].

HIGGINS. What's your name?

THE FLOWER GIRL. Liza Doolittle.

HIGGINS [declaiming gravely]
Eliza, Elizabeth, Betsy and Bess,
They went to the woods to get a birds nes':
PICKERING. They found a nest with four eggs in it:
HIGGINS. They took one apiece, and left three in it.

They laugh heartily at their own wit.

LIZA. Oh, don't be silly.

MRS. PEARCE. You mustn't speak to the gentleman like that.

LIZA. Well, why won't he speak sensible to me?

HIGGINS. Come back to business. How much do you propose to pay me
for the lessons?

LIZA. Oh, I know what's right. A lady friend of mine gets French
lessons for eighteenpence an hour from a real French gentleman.
Well, you wouldn't have the face to ask me the same for teaching
me my own language as you would for French; so I won't give more
than a shilling. Take it or leave it.

HIGGINS [walking up and down the room, rattling his keys and his
cash in his pockets] You know, Pickering, if you consider a
shilling, not as a simple shilling, but as a percentage of this
girl's income, it works out as fully equivalent to sixty or
seventy guineas from a millionaire.

PICKERING. How so?

HIGGINS. Figure it out. A millionaire has about 150 pounds a day.
She earns about half-a-crown.

LIZA [haughtily] Who told you I only--

HIGGINS [continuing] She offers me two-fifths of her day's income
for a lesson. Two-fifths of a millionaire's income for a day
would be somewhere about 60 pounds. It's handsome. By George,
it's enormous! it's the biggest offer I ever had.

LIZA [rising, terrified] Sixty pounds! What are you talking
about? I never offered you sixty pounds. Where would I get--

HIGGINS. Hold your tongue.

LIZA [weeping] But I ain't got sixty pounds. Oh--

MRS. PEARCE. Don't cry, you silly girl. Sit down. Nobody is going
to touch your money.

HIGGINS. Somebody is going to touch you, with a broomstick, if
you don't stop snivelling. Sit down.

LIZA [obeying slowly] Ah--ah--ah--ow--oo--o! One would think you
was my father.

HIGGINS. If I decide to teach you, I'll be worse than two fathers
to you. Here [he offers her his silk handkerchief]!

LIZA. What's this for?

HIGGINS. To wipe your eyes. To wipe any part of your face that
feels moist. Remember: that's your handkerchief; and that's your
sleeve. Don't mistake the one for the other if you wish to become
a lady in a shop.

Liza, utterly bewildered, stares helplessly at him.

MRS. PEARCE. It's no use talking to her like that, Mr. Higgins:
she doesn't understand you. Besides, you're quite wrong: she
doesn't do it that way at all [she takes the handkerchief].

LIZA [snatching it] Here! You give me that handkerchief. He give
it to me, not to you.

PICKERING [laughing] He did. I think it must be regarded as her
property, Mrs. Pearce.

MRS. PEARCE [resigning herself] Serve you right, Mr. Higgins.

PICKERING. Higgins: I'm interested. What about the ambassador's
garden party? I'll say you're the greatest teacher alive if you
make that good. I'll bet you all the expenses of the experiment
you can't do it. And I'll pay for the lessons.

LIZA. Oh, you are real good. Thank you, Captain.

HIGGINS [tempted, looking at her] It's almost irresistible. She's
so deliciously low--so horribly dirty--

LIZA [protesting extremely] Ah--ah--ah--ah--ow--ow--oooo!!! I
ain't dirty: I washed my face and hands afore I come, I did.

PICKERING. You're certainly not going to turn her head with
flattery, Higgins.

MRS. PEARCE [uneasy] Oh, don't say that, sir: there's more ways
than one of turning a girl's head; and nobody can do it better
than Mr. Higgins, though he may not always mean it. I do hope,
sir, you won't encourage him to do anything foolish.

HIGGINS [becoming excited as the idea grows on him] What is life
but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them
to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn't come every day. I shall
make a duchess of this draggletailed guttersnipe.

LIZA [strongly deprecating this view of her] Ah--ah--ah--ow--ow--
oo!

HIGGINS [carried away] Yes: in six months--in three if she has a
good ear and a quick tongue--I'll take her anywhere and pass her
off as anything. We'll start today: now! this moment! Take her
away and clean her, Mrs. Pearce. Monkey Brand, if it won't come
off any other way. Is there a good fire in the kitchen?

MRS. PEARCE [protesting]. Yes; but--

HIGGINS [storming on] Take all her clothes off and burn them.
Ring up Whiteley or somebody for new ones. Wrap her up in brown
paper till they come.

LIZA. You're no gentleman, you're not, to talk of such things.
I'm a good girl, I am; and I know what the like of you are, I do.

HIGGINS. We want none of your Lisson Grove prudery here, young
woman. You've got to learn to behave like a duchess. Take her
away, Mrs. Pearce. If she gives you any trouble wallop her.

LIZA [springing up and running between Pickering and Mrs. Pearce
for protection] No! I'll call the police, I will.

MRS. PEARCE. But I've no place to put her.

HIGGINS. Put her in the dustbin.

LIZA. Ah--ah--ah--ow--ow--oo!

PICKERING. Oh come, Higgins! be reasonable.

MRS. PEARCE [resolutely] You must be reasonable, Mr. Higgins:
really you must. You can't walk over everybody like this.

Higgins, thus scolded, subsides. The hurricane is succeeded by a
zephyr of amiable surprise.

HIGGINS [with professional exquisiteness of modulation] I walk
over everybody! My dear Mrs. Pearce, my dear Pickering, I never
had the slightest intention of walking over anyone. All I propose
is that we should be kind to this poor girl. We must help her to
prepare and fit herself for her new station in life. If I did not
express myself clearly it was because I did not wish to hurt her
delicacy, or yours.

Liza, reassured, steals back to her chair.

MRS. PEARCE [to Pickering] Well, did you ever hear anything like
that, sir?

PICKERING [laughing heartily] Never, Mrs. Pearce: never.

HIGGINS [patiently] What's the matter?

MRS. PEARCE. Well, the matter is, sir, that you can't take a girl
up like that as if you were picking up a pebble on the beach.

HIGGINS. Why not?

MRS. PEARCE. Why not! But you don't know anything about her. What
about her parents? She may be married.

LIZA. Garn!

HIGGINS. There! As the girl very properly says, Garn! Married
indeed! Don't you know that a woman of that class looks a worn
out drudge of fifty a year after she's married.

LIZA. Who'd marry me?

HIGGINS [suddenly resorting to the most thrillingly beautiful low
tones in his best elocutionary style] By George, Eliza, the
streets will be strewn with the bodies of men shooting themselves
for your sake before I've done with you.

MRS. PEARCE. Nonsense, sir. You mustn't talk like that to her.

LIZA [rising and squaring herself determinedly] I'm going away.
He's off his chump, he is. I don't want no balmies teaching me.

HIGGINS [wounded in his tenderest point by her insensibility to
his elocution] Oh, indeed! I'm mad, am I? Very well, Mrs. Pearce:
you needn't order the new clothes for her. Throw her out.

LIZA [whimpering] Nah--ow. You got no right to touch me.

MRS. PEARCE. You see now what comes of being saucy. [Indicating
the door] This way, please.

LIZA [almost in tears] I didn't want no clothes. I wouldn't have
taken them [she throws away the handkerchief]. I can buy my own
clothes.

HIGGINS [deftly retrieving the handkerchief and intercepting her
on her reluctant way to the door] You're an ungrateful wicked
girl. This is my return for offering to take you out of the
gutter and dress you beautifully and make a lady of you.

MRS. PEARCE. Stop, Mr. Higgins. I won't allow it. It's you that
are wicked. Go home to your parents, girl; and tell them to take
better care of you.

LIZA. I ain't got no parents. They told me I was big enough to
earn my own living and turned me out.

MRS. PEARCE. Where's your mother?

LIZA. I ain't got no mother. Her that turned me out was my sixth
stepmother. But I done without them. And I'm a good girl, I am.

HIGGINS. Very well, then, what on earth is all this fuss about?
The girl doesn't belong to anybody--is no use to anybody but me.
[He goes to Mrs. Pearce and begins coaxing]. You can adopt her,
Mrs. Pearce: I'm sure a daughter would be a great amusement to
you. Now don't make any more fuss. Take her downstairs; and--

MRS. PEARCE. But what's to become of her? Is she to be paid
anything? Do be sensible, sir.

HIGGINS. Oh, pay her whatever is necessary: put it down in the
housekeeping book. [Impatiently] What on earth will she want with
money? She'll have her food and her clothes. She'll only drink if
you give her money.

LIZA [turning on him] Oh you are a brute. It's a lie: nobody ever
saw the sign of liquor on me. [She goes back to her chair and
plants herself there defiantly].

PICKERING [in good-humored remonstrance] Does it occur to you,
Higgins, that the girl has some feelings?

HIGGINS [looking critically at her] Oh no, I don't think so. Not
any feelings that we need bother about. [Cheerily] Have you,
Eliza?

LIZA. I got my feelings same as anyone else.

HIGGINS [to Pickering, reflectively] You see the difficulty?

PICKERING. Eh? What difficulty?

HIGGINS. To get her to talk grammar. The mere pronunciation is
easy enough.

LIZA. I don't want to talk grammar. I want to talk like a lady.

MRS. PEARCE. Will you please keep to the point, Mr. Higgins. I
want to know on what terms the girl is to be here. Is she to have
any wages? And what is to become of her when you've finished
your teaching? You must look ahead a little.

HIGGINS [impatiently] What's to become of her if I leave her in
the gutter? Tell me that, Mrs. Pearce.

MRS. PEARCE. That's her own business, not yours, Mr. Higgins.

HIGGINS. Well, when I've done with her, we can throw her back
into the gutter; and then it will be her own business again; so
that's all right.

LIZA. Oh, you've no feeling heart in you: you don't care for
nothing but yourself [she rises and takes the floor resolutely].
Here! I've had enough of this. I'm going [making for the door].
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you ought.

HIGGINS [snatching a chocolate cream from the piano, his eyes
suddenly beginning to twinkle with mischief] Have some
chocolates, Eliza.

LIZA [halting, tempted] How do I know what might be in them? I've
heard of girls being drugged by the like of you.

Higgins whips out his penknife; cuts a chocolate in two; puts one
half into his mouth and bolts it; and offers her the other half.

HIGGINS. Pledge of good faith, Eliza. I eat one half you eat the
other.

[Liza opens her mouth to retort: he pops the half chocolate into
it]. You shall have boxes of them, barrels of them, every day.
You shall live on them. Eh?

LIZA [who has disposed of the chocolate after being nearly choked
by it] I wouldn't have ate it, only I'm too ladylike to take it
out of my mouth.

HIGGINS. Listen, Eliza. I think you said you came in a taxi.

LIZA. Well, what if I did? I've as good a right to take a taxi as
anyone else.

HIGGINS. You have, Eliza; and in future you shall have as many
taxis as you want. You shall go up and down and round the town in
a taxi every day. Think of that, Eliza.

MRS. PEARCE. Mr. Higgins: you're tempting the girl. It's not
right. She should think of the future.

HIGGINS. At her age! Nonsense! Time enough to think of the future
when you haven't any future to think of. No, Eliza: do as this
lady does: think of other people's futures; but never think of
your own. Think of chocolates, and taxis, and gold, and diamonds.

LIZA. No: I don't want no gold and no diamonds. I'm a good girl,
I am. [She sits down again, with an attempt at dignity].

HIGGINS. You shall remain so, Eliza, under the care of Mrs.
Pearce. And you shall marry an officer in the Guards, with a
beautiful moustache: the son of a marquis, who will disinherit
him for marrying you, but will relent when he sees your beauty
and goodness--

PICKERING. Excuse me, Higgins; but I really must interfere. Mrs.
Pearce is quite right. If this girl is to put herself in your
hands for six months for an experiment in teaching, she must
understand thoroughly what she's doing.

HIGGINS. How can she? She's incapable of understanding anything.
Besides, do any of us understand what we are doing? If we did,
would we ever do it?

PICKERING. Very clever, Higgins; but not sound sense. [To Eliza]
Miss Doolittle--

LIZA [overwhelmed] Ah--ah--ow--oo!

HIGGINS. There! That's all you get out of Eliza. Ah--ah--ow--oo!
No use explaining. As a military man you ought to know that. Give
her her orders: that's what she wants. Eliza: you are to live
here for the next six months, learning how to speak beautifully,
like a lady in a florist's shop. If you're good and do whatever
you're told, you shall sleep in a proper bedroom, and have lots
to eat, and money to buy chocolates and take rides in taxis. If
you're naughty and idle you will sleep in the back kitchen among
the black beetles, and be walloped by Mrs. Pearce with a
broomstick. At the end of six months you shall go to Buckingham
Palace in a carriage, beautifully dressed. If the King finds out
you're not a lady, you will be taken by the police to the Tower
of London, where your head will be cut off as a warning to other
presumptuous flower girls. If you are not found out, you shall
have a present of seven-and-sixpence to start life with as a lady
in a shop. If you refuse this offer you will be a most ungrateful
and wicked girl; and the angels will weep for you. [To Pickering]
Now are you satisfied, Pickering? [To Mrs. Pearce] Can I put it
more plainly and fairly, Mrs. Pearce?

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