_Dora._ Mr. Peyton, I presume you have hesitated to make this avowal because you feared, in the present condition of affairs here, your object might be misconstrued, and that your attention was rather to my fortune than myself. [_A pause._] Why don't he speak?--I mean, you feared I might not give you credit for sincere and pure feelings. Well, you wrong me. I don't think you capable of anything else than-- _George._ No, I hesitated because an attachment I had formed before I had the pleasure of seeing you had not altogether died out. _Dora._ [_Smiling._] Some of those sirens of Paris, I presume, [_Pause._] I shall endeavor not to be jealous of the past; perhaps I have no right to be. [_Pause._] But now that vagrant love is--eh? faded--is it not? Why don't you speak, sir? _George._ Because, Miss Sunnyside, I have not learned to lie. _Dora._ Good gracious--who wants you to? _George._ I do, but I can't do it. No, the love I speak of is not such as you suppose,--it is a passion that has grown up here since I arrived; but it is a hopeless, mad, wild feeling, that must perish. _Dora._ Here! since you arrived! Impossible; you have seen no one; whom can you mean? _Zoe._ [_Advancing,_ C.] Me. _George._ [L.] Zoe! _Dora._ [R.] You! _Zoe._ Forgive him, Dora; for he knew no better until I told him. Dora, you are right. He is incapable of any but sincere and pure feelings--so are you. He loves me--what of that? You know you can't be jealous of a poor creature like me. If he caught the fever, were stung by a snake, or possessed of any other poisonous or unclean thing, you could pity, tend, love him through it, and for your gentle care he would love you in return. Well, is he not thus afflicted now? I am his love--he loves an Octoroon. _George._ O, Zoe, you break my heart! _Dora._ At college they said I was a fool--I must be. At New Orleans, they said, "She's pretty, very pretty, but no brains." I'm afraid they must be right; I can't understand a word of all this. _Zoe._ Dear Dora, try to understand it with your heart. You love George; you love him dearly; I know it; and you deserve to be loved by him. He will love you--he must. His love for me will pass away--it shall. You heard him say it was hopeless. O, forgive him and me! _Dora._ [_Weeping._] O, why did he speak to me at all then? You've made me cry, then, and I hate you both! [_Exit_ L., _through room._ _Enter_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ Scudder, M'Closky _and_ Pointdexter, R. _M'Closky._ [C.] I'm sorry to intrude, but the business I came upon will excuse me. _Mrs. Pey._ Here is my nephew, sir. _Zoe._ Perhaps I had better go. _M'Closky._ Wal, as it consarns you, perhaps you better had. _Scud._ Consarns Zoe? _M'Closky._ I don't know; she may as well hear the hull of it. Go on, Colonel--Colonel Pointdexter, ma'am--the mortgagee, auctioneer, and general agent. _Point._ [R. C.] Pardon me, madam, but do you know these papers? [_Hands papers to_ Mrs. Peyton.]