Eliza Doolittle: [crying] What's to become of me, what's to become of me?
Professor Henry Higgins: You know Eliza, you might marry. Not all men are confirmed old bachelors like me and the colonel, most are the marrying sort. And you're not bad looking, you might even be what I call *atractive*. But not now. You've been crying at look like the very Devil himself.