Dora. What's the matter?
Scud. He's come.
Pete. Dass it—I saw'm!
Scud. The sheriff from New Orleans has taken possession—Terrebonne is in the hands of the law.
Enter Zoe, L. U. E.
Zoe. O, Mr. Scudder! Dora! Mr. Peyton! come home—there are strangers in the house.
Dora. Stay, Mr. Peyton; Zoe, a word! [Leads her forward—aside.] Zoe, the more I see of George Peyton the better I like him; but he is too modest—that is a very impertinent virtue in a man.
Zoe. I'm no judge, dear.
Dora. Of course not, you little fool; no one ever made love to you, and you can't understand; I mean, that George knows I am an heiress; my fortune would release this estate from debt.
Zoe. O, I see!