PYGMALION [_waving his hands to appease them_] Very well, very well. Will you please whistle for them? They respond to the stimulus of a whistle. _All who can, whistle like streetboys._ ECRASIA [_makes a wry face and puts her fingers in her ears_]! PYGMALION. Sh-sh-sh! Thats enough: thats enough: thats enough. [_Silence_]. Now let us have some music. A dance tune. Not too fast. _The flutists play a quiet dance._ MARTELLUS. Prepare yourselves for something ghastly. _Two figures, a man and woman of noble appearance, beautifully modelled and splendidly attired, emerge hand in hand from the temple. Seeing that all eyes are fixed on them, they halt on the steps, smiling with gratified vanity. The woman is on the man's left._ PYGMALION [_rubbing his hands with the purring satisfaction of a creator_] This way, please. _The Figures advance condescendingly and pose themselves centrally between the curved seats._ PYGMALION. Now if you will be so good as to oblige us with a little something. You dance so beautifully, you know. [_He sits down next Martellus, and whispers to him_] It is extraordinary how sensitive they are to the stimulus of flattery. _The Figures, with a gracious air, dance pompously, but very passably. At the close they bow to one another._ ON ALL HANDS [_clapping_] Bravo! Thank you. Wonderful! Splendid. Perfect. _The Figures acknowledge the applause in an obvious condition of swelled head._ THE NEWLY BORN. Can they make love? PYGMALION. Yes: they can respond to every stimulus. They have all the reflexes. Put your arm round the man's neck, and he will put his arm round your body. He cannot help it. THE FEMALE FIGURE [_frowning_] Round mine, you mean. PYGMALION. Yours, too, of course, if the stimulus comes from you. ECRASIA. Cannot he do anything original? PYGMALION. No. But then, you know, I do not admit that any of us can do anything really original, though Martellus thinks we can. ACIS. Can he answer a question? PYGMALION. Oh yes. A question is a stimulus, you know. Ask him one. ACIS [_to the Male Figure_] What do you think of what you see around you? Of us, for instance, and our ways and doings? THE MALE FIGURE. I have not seen the newspaper today. THE FEMALE FIGURE. How can you expect my husband to know what to think of you if you give him his breakfast without his paper? MARTELLUS. You see. He is a mere automaton. THE NEWLY BORN. I don't think I should like him to put his arm round my neck. I don't like them. [_The Male Figure looks offended, and the Female jealous_]. Oh, I thought they couldn't understand. Have they feelings? PYGMALION. Of course they have. I tell you they have all the reflexes. THE NEWLY BORN. But feelings are not reflexes.