George. My dear mother—Mr. Scudder—you teach me what I ought to do; if Miss Sunnyside will accept me as I am, Terrebonne shall be saved; I will sell myself, but the slaves shall be protected.
Mrs. P. Sell yourself, George! Is not Dora worth any man's—
Scud. Don't say that, ma'am; don't say that to a man that loves another gal. He's going to do an heroic act; don't spile it.
Mrs. P. But Zoe is only an Octoroon.
Scud. She's won this race agin the white, anyhow; it's too late now to start her pedigree.
Enter Dora, L. U. E.
Scud. [Seeing Dora.] Come, Mrs. Peyton, take my arm. Hush! here's the other one; she's a little too thoroughbred—too much of the greyhound; but the heart's there, I believe.
[Exit Scudder and Mrs. Peyton, R. U. E.
Dora. Poor Mrs. Peyton.
George. Miss Sunnyside, permit me a word; a feeling of delicacy has suspended upon my lips an avowal, which—