“Will that little goblin never be out of mischief? Take her away, Molasses,” said the secretly delighted father. Then, resuming his seat, he continued: “It appears from this account, wife, that among the passengers killed by this great steamboat explosion were your niece Leonora Berwick, her husband, and child. Did she have more than one child?” “Not that I know of,” said Mrs. Pompilard. “Is poor Leonora blown up? That is very hard indeed. But I never set eyes on her,—though I have her photograph,—and I shall not pretend to grieve for one I never saw. My poor brother could never get over our elopement, you wicked Albert.” “Your poor brother thought I was cheating you, when I said I loved you to distraction. Now put your hand on your heart, Mrs. Pompilard, and say, if you can, that I haven’t proved every day of my life that I fell short of the truth in my professions.” “I sha’n’t complain,” replied the lady, smiling; “but we were shockingly imprudent, both of us; and I tell Netty I shall disown her if she ever elopes.” “Of course Netty mustn’t take our example as a precedent.” Buoyed up on her husband’s ever-sanguine and cheerful temperament, Mrs. Pompilard had looked upon their fluctuations from wealth to poverty as so many piquant variations in their way of life. This moving into a little mean house in Harlem,—what was it, after all, but playing poor? It would be only temporary, and was a very good joke while it lasted. Albert would soon have his palace on the Fifth Avenue once more. There was no doubt of it. And so Mrs. Pompilard made the best of the present moment. Her step-daughters (she was the junior of one of them) used to treat her as they might a spoiled child, taking her in their laps, and petting her, and often rocking her to sleep. The news Pompilard had been reading suggested to him a not improbable contingency, but he exhibited the calmness of the experienced gambler in considering it. “My dear,” said he, “if this news is true, it is not out of the range of possibilities that the extinction of this Berwick family may leave you the inheritrix of a million of dollars.” “That would be quite delightful,” exclaimed Mrs. Pompilard; “for then that poor pining Purling could marry Melissa at once. Not that I wish my niece and her husband any harm. O no!”