CHAPTER XIV
IT was a cool, sunny April morning—one of those perfect spring days when a steady, pleasant breeze blows from the lake, clearing away smoke and dust and lifting even the city heaviness from the atmosphere; a day of lightness and lilt, characteristic of spring in Chicago; and, of those who were entering the big office building from the walk, no one seemed to feel fuller response to the invigoration of the day than the woman whom Gregg at once recognized as Sybil Russell.
She came in from the street a few minutes after twelve. Her energy and aliveness were the first noticeable qualities of her; as Gregg had commented to himself on that night, when suddenly she confronted him after he had broken into her apartment on Clearedge Street, she seemed consciously to avoid playing up her physical attractions. Her regular features were almost handsome; her brown hair pleasing; her figure was good; but it evidently was her preference in business hours, as it had seemed to have been her choice that night at Clearedge Street, not to obtrude her body. She was dressed smartly in a blue, rather new, tailored suit with a small, smart blue sailor; a trim, new gray glove covered her slender, capable looking hand which clasped a medium-sized brown leather portfolio. She drew men's eyes; every one passing glanced at her; but no one's eyes dwelt upon her as men's eyes lingered on far less handsome and well-proportioned girls going in
