George. Excuse me, I'll light a cigar. [Goes up.]
Dora. [Aside to Zoe.] Isn't he sweet! O, dear Zoe, is he in love with anybody?
Zoe. How can I tell?
Dora. Ask him, I want to know; don't say I told you to inquire, but find out. Minnie, fan me, it is so nice—and his clothes are French, ain't they?
Zoe. I think so; shall I ask him that too?
Dora. No, dear. I wish he would make love to me. When he speaks to one he does it so easy, so gentle; it isn't bar-room style; love lined with drinks, sighs tinged with tobacco—and they say all the women in Paris were in love with him, which I feel I shall be; stop fanning me; what nice boots he wears.
Sunny. [To Mrs. Peyton.] Yes, ma'am, I hold a mortgage over Terrebonne; mine's a ninth, and pretty near covers all the property, except the slaves. I believe Mr. M'Closky has a bill of sale on them. O, here he is.
Enter M'Closky, R. U. E.
Sunny. Good morning, Mr. M'Closky.
M'Closky. Good morning, Mr. Sunnyside; Miss Dora, your servant.