ite beyond what would be anticipated from so trifling
a cause.

At length, as the tide yielded, the wind carried me beyond the Hardieres,
on and on to Fecamp, where the Rob Roy meant to stop for the night. But,
willing though I was to rest there, the appearance of Fecamp from the
offing was by no means satisfactory. It did not look easy to get into,
and how was I to get out of it to-morrow? The Pilot-book took a similar
view of this matter. {77}

Yet we must put in somewhere, and this was the nearest port to the Cape
Antifer, the only remaining point to be anxious about, and which we might
now expect to round next day. On the other hand, there was the argument,
"If the wind chops round to the west, we may be detained in Fecamp for a
week, whereas now it is favourable; and if we can possibly get round
to-day--Well what a load of anxiety would be done with if we could do
that!" The thought, quite new, seemed charming, and, yet undecided, I
thought it best to cook dinner at once and put the question to the vote
at dessert.

It is very puzzling what name to give to each successive meal in a day
when the first one has been eaten at 2 A.M. If this is to be considered
as _breakfast_, then the next, say at nine o'clock, ought to be luncheon,
which seems absurd, though the Americans call any supplemental feeding a
"lunch," even up to eleven o'clock at night, and you may see in New York
signboards announcing "Lunch at 9 P.M. Clam Chowder." {78}

Now, as I had often to begin work by first frying at one or two o'clock
in the moonlight, and as it would have a greedy sound if the next attack
on eatables were to be called "second breakfast," the only true way of
settling this point was to consider the first meal to be in fact a late
supper of yesterday, or at any rate to regard it as belonging to the
bygone, and therefore beyond inquiry, and so to ignore this first
breakfast altogether in one's arrangements. The stomach quite approved
of this decision, and was always ready for the usual breakfast at six or
seven o'clock, whatever had been discussed a few hours before.

The matter as to Etretat was decided then. We two were to go on, and to
hope the wind would do so to. Then away sped we merrily singing, with
the new and unexpected prospect of possibly reaching Havre that very day.
From thence a month was to be passed in going up and down the Seine and
at Paris; and what was to come after that? How come back to England?