The three of them formed a portentous
battery. Morrison did not speak. His expression indicated humility. He
drooped his shoulders. There was appeal in his eyes. "Here I am!" the eyes
informed the glowering Senator. But a side-glance hinted: "Here is your
daughter, too. Use judgment!"
Lana was manifestly perplexed by what she saw. Three distinguished
gentlemen were presenting the visages of masculine Furies. She looked away
from them and received a little comfort from the placid countenances of
Andrew Mac Tavish and Delora Bunker, but their presence in that place and
at that hour only made her mystification more complete.
She had been allowing her imagination to paint pictures before she stepped
into the Executive Chamber; she had expected to find her father virtuously
triumphant, serenely a successful molder of pacific plans. His scowl was
so forbidding that she stopped short.
"Father, it's wonderful--perfectly wonderful, isn't it?" She tried to
speak joyously, but she faltered. "I saw it all! I saw how your plan
succeeded."
"Damn you, Morrison! What has happened?" The Senator did not merely
demand--he exploded.
The silence which followed became oppressive.
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