Monsieur Béjart sat Eliza down in a small room near the study where the professor made his recordings. He stared at Eliza and then smiled wickedly.

"I would ask you from where you come, but you surely have been given a back story, un simple histoire." Béjart circled her once before sitting next to her.

"Of course." She murmured. She had grown tired of playing this charade.

"Then tell me where you originate."

Eliza looked him in the eye. "I was born in Lisson Grove in 1891 and lived in the lower points of London my entire adult life. I sold flowers to survive."

The Frenchman paused and stared hungrily at her. Then he laughed boisterously.

"Coquette! You jest."

"On me bible oath!" Eliza swore in her cockney, only to realize how crude and unnatural the words now sounded in her mouth,

The Frenchman laughed and muttered something about 'perroquet' in between his hysterics.

"A what?" Eliza asked

"A parrot, mademoiselle. I understand now, I understand. You are a mimic. He has trained you in dialects. You must be an actress. I understand. He's brilliant."

"I assure you I speak the truth."

Béjart was dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. "Your Devonshire dialect is completely untraceable. Oh he must have trained you in a hundred or more! Oh mademoiselle!" And out he ran to reveal his findings.

Eliza was astonished, and in that moment she realized how little power she had in this household. She overheard them all sharing a good laugh. Oh that stupid little Frenchman! In her anger she grabbed the nearest record and smashed it upon the table. On closer inspection, she realized she had smashed the record of her own voice, the one Higgins had been listening to the day before. She grasped at the shattered coal black pieces in front of her and began to sob.

The men departed the study. All of them clasping hands and patting each other on the back through a thick cloud of cigar smoke. Eliza crept into the room unnoticed and stood behind Higgins who was sorting through a box of chocolates on his desk. His back was turned to her but he immediately sensed her presence.

"Well, I'll say that went rather well."

"Well?" she asked dryly.

He turned and looked at her tear-streaked face and sighed in exasperation.

"Oh tosh, if you're upset because you told the truth instead of the preposterous history we created for you, don't be. The truth is far more unbelievable than the lie. As a matter of fact, that's the story we should have told them at the embassy last week. By George!" he popped a chocolate into his mouth.

Eliza threw her hands into the air still clutching the pieces of broken record. "I've had enough of being your scientific experiment. Have I not made myself perfectly clear that I abhor being your masterpiece."

Higgins threw a stack of papers on the desk "How dare you raise your voice to me after I let you crawl back to this house."

"You've no right..." she screeched

" I do so. If I want to tie you up and sell you to the circus, I will. I created you from nothing and now you are a fine lady..."

"I have ALWAYS been a lady." She dropped the pieces of the broken record at his feet.

The look in her eyes frightened him, but not for fear of personal safety. She was a few inches from him and he grew uncomfortable. He shifted his stance and defaulted to his charms that always soothed his female friends in the past.

"Of course you have been, as you say, a good girl. I didn't mean to insinuate otherwise. I merely meant that I helped to carry you over the social hurdles faced by all Britons. We are all dependent on one another, every soul."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. How generous of you. Of course I had no part in it."

Higgins stepped towards her. "Of course you didn't you little fool. Do you think that you would have learned anything I taught you in that fine life in the gutter? Where do you think you would have ended? You couldn't have sold flowers forever, you know."

Higgins immediately regretted saying this, but not before Eliza raised her hands towards him, ready to fight. He grabbed her wrists, which threw her off balance, causing her to fall into him. He was not prepared for this. She fought for a moment and then softly stopped resisting. She began to sob quietly.

"How can you say such things? How can you..." she trailed off quietly crying.

He began to feel panic at the situation he now found himself in. He walked her over and sat her down upon the sofa and stepped away from him.

"Oh, come now. I never mean to insinuate such things, it's just that nothing makes me angrier than your insolence and ingratitude." He opened up the bottle of port on the piano and quickly downed a glass.

She stared at him. "And I detest your arrogance and stubbornness."

He handed her a glass of port but she turned it down. He sat beside her, tears still streaming.

"Are we to have the same scene every night that you stay here?"

Eliza had noted the similarities between the two arguments and she sighed. "No. I just wish..." she stopped and turned away from him.

Higgins didn't say anything for a few moments. "Well, at least you didn't hurl any slippers at me this time."

She smiled in spite of herself, still angry with him.

He felt something akin to guilt, so he lightly put his hand on her shoulder. She relaxed for a moment.

"Tomorrow morning. Same a.m.?"

She recognized the truce and the gesture that was as close to an apology as she would ever get from him.

"Yes." She whispered hoarsely and stood up.

As she opened the door, there stood the entire household staff with mouths gaped open. They had flocked upstairs to listen to the screaming match. Eliza lowered her head and walked past them up the stairs. They turned their attention to the Professor who waved his hand "Go on! Go on!"

They dispersed quickly as he slammed the door. He picked up the pieces of the broken record and felt a twinge of remorse when he saw which record she had destroyed. She knew how to wound him, even if she wasn't aware of it. He sat upon the divan and placed his face in his hands. She made him angrier than he could ever remember, so much so that it was impossible to be a man of good graces where she was concerned...

And yet.

He collapsed into the chair and muttered under his breath, "I did not create Galatea...I created Frankenstein."