erything 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