57
Shaw
ACT IV
The Wimpole Street laboratory. Midnight. Nobody in
the room. The clock on the mantelpiece strikes twelve.
The fire is not alight: it is a summer night.
Presently Higgins and Pickering are heard on the
stairs.
HIGGINS
[
calling down to Pickering] I say, Pick: lock up,
will you. I shan’t be going out again.
PICKERING
. Right. Can Mrs. Pearce go to bed? We don’t
want anything more, do we?
HIGGINS
. Lord, no!
Eliza opens the door and is seen on the lighted landing in opera
cloak, brilliant evening dress, and diamonds, with fan, flowers,
and all accessories. She comes to the hearth, and switches on the
electric lights there. She is tired: her pallor contrasts strongly with
her dark eyes and hair; and her expression is almost tragic. She
takes off her cloak; puts her fan and flowers on the piano; and sits
down on the bench, brooding and silent. Higgins, in evening dress,
with overcoat and hat, comes in, carrying a smoking jacket which
he has picked up downstairs. He takes off the hat and overcoat;
throws them carelessly on the newspaper stand; disposes of his coat
in the same way; puts on the smoking jacket; and throws himself
wearily into the easy-chair at the hearth. Pickering, similarly at-
tired, comes in. He also takes off his hat and overcoat, and is
about to throw them on Higgins’s when he hesitates.
PICKERING
. I say: Mrs. Pearce will row if we leave these
things lying about in the drawing-room.
HIGGINS
. Oh, chuck them over the bannisters into the
hall. She’ll find them there in the morning and put them
away all right. She’ll think we were drunk.
PICKERING
. We are, slightly. Are there any letters?
HIGGINS
. I didn’t look. [
Pickering takes the overcoats and
hats and goes down stairs. Higgins begins half singing half yawn-
ing an air from La Fanciulla del Golden West. Suddenly he
stops and exclaims] I wonder where the devil my slippers are!
Eliza looks at him darkly; then leaves the room.
Higgins yawns again, and resumes his song. Pickering returns,
with the contents of the letter-box in his hand.
PICKERING
. Only circulars, and this coroneted billet-doux
for you. [
He throws the circulars into the fender, and posts him-