The naturalists were discussing taxonomy. The doctor was talking about cheese.

“But if we create a whole new Linnean system—”

“Which is what the situation calls for!”

“ — there’s the risk of suggesting a connectivity of descent, the familiarity of otherwise well-defined species…”

“Gjedsar cheese! In those days we had Gjedsar cheese even at the breakfast table. Oranges, ham, sausage, rye bread with red caviar. Every meal a true frokost. Not this mean allowance. Ah!” The doctor spotted Guilford. “Our photographer. And his family. Lovely lady! The little miss!”

The diners stood and shuffled to make room. Guilford had made friends among the naturalists, particularly the botanist named Sullivan. Caroline, though she was obviously a welcome presence, had little to say at these meals. But it was Lily who had won over the table. Lily was barely four years old, but her mother had taught her the rudiments of decorum, and the scientists didn’t mind her inquisitiveness… with the possible exception of Preston Finch, the expedition’s senior naturalist, who had no knack with children. But Finch was at the opposite end of the long trestle, monopolizing a Harvard geologist. Lily sat beside her mother and opened her napkin methodically. Her shoulders barely reached the plane of the table.

The doctor beamed — a little drunkenly, Guilford thought. “Young Lilian is looking hungry. Would you like a pork chop, Lily? Yes? Meager but edible. And applesauce?”

Lily nodded, trying not to flinch.

“Good. Good. Lily, we are halfway across the big sea. Halfway to the big land of Europe. Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Lily obliged. “But we’re only going to England. Just Daddy’s going to Europe.”