Probably my readers will not consider this conversation very brilliant; but Mrs. Clifton was a silly woman, who was fond of attention, and was incapable of talking sensibly. Richard would have preferred not to have her husband or herself in the company, but, finding it inevitable, submitted to it with as good a grace as possible.
Carriage were secured at a neighboring stable, and the two parties started. The drive was found to be very pleasant, particularly the latter portion, when a fresh breeze from the sea made the air delightfully cool. As they drove up beside the fort, they heard the band within, playing a march, and, giving their horses in charge, they were soon exploring the interior. The view from the ramparts proved to be fine, commanding a good view of the harbor and the city of New York, nearly eight miles distant to the north.
"It is a charming view," said Mrs. Clifton, with girlish enthusiasm.
"I know what will be more charming," said her husband.
"What is it?"
"A prospect of the dinner-table. I feel awfully hungry."
"Mr. Clifton never thinks of anything but eating," said his wife.
"By Jove! you can do your share at that," retorted her husband not very gallantly. "You'd ought to see her eat, Hunter."
"I don't eat more than a little bird," said Mrs. Clifton, affectedly. "I appeal to Mr. Hunter."