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 and out the building. Almost all of them sought observation more than she. There was a dark-haired girl now contrasting with her; a stenographer, probably; in all likelihood, a "nice" girl and not nearly so good looking as Mrs. Russell but, in comparison with Sybil Russell, the other girl sought observation and, when she gained it, rewarded it without suggesting inward barriers to acquaintance. Even the man behind the cigar and candy counter opposite the elevators seemed able to imagine himself making progress with the dark-haired girl. But Sybil Russell was one whom the business men who passed her—lawyers, insurance agents and such—invariably noticed but as invariably put out of their minds because she showed, plainly, that she bore nothing for them.

She had not seen Gregg when she entered for it was evidently not the habit of her eyes to rove over men standing about, but during the moments while she waited for a descended car to empty, she half turned and suddenly recognized him. He saw her startle very slightly and then, when he believed she was not going to speak, she nodded to him.

He raised his hat and stepped forward. "How do you do, Mrs. Russell," he said, and instantly realized that she perceived he had come there to find her. She stepped back from the group entering the elevator.

"Do you want to talk with me?" she asked in a low, controlled voice.

"I'd like to," Gregg said.

"Where?"

He had expected no such directness as this and he admitted it. "I hadn't thought of that, Mrs. Russell."

"Do you want to come up to my office? We can talk in a private room."