The big family lounge, commonly pushed away in a corner, was drawn up near the fire, and on it, comfortably surrounded by cushions, reclined a girl who was not a Rossignol girl, nor anything approaching to a Rossignol girl, as far as Captain White could make out. She had been reading and had fallen asleep over her book, and she lay like a beautiful statue while Justin and his mother were apparently paying no more attention to her than if she really were something without life.
Captain White rubbed his hand across his eyes and looked again. The girl was still there, and, with a puzzled expression of face equivalent to a spoken "I give it up," he sat down beside the door, one of his peculiarities being a reluctance to approach a fire.
"How are you, Micah?" said Justin, laconically.
"First-rate," responded Captain White, "and how's yourself?"
"All right."
"You don't look it."
"I've been away. I guess a long journey doesn't agree with me."
"Where have you been?"
"To California."
"To California!" exclaimed Captain White, in a surprise that was ludicrous, and his gaze again went to the girl as if seeking from her a reason for this extraordinary departure on the part of his hitherto home-loving cousin.