What had he dared?
He dared to pity her because she had lost her temper.
She tore her fan all to pieces and scattered the wreck on the floor.
This monster had come to be subdued, to be tamed, to be turned from his purpose. He had not been much subdued, or to any great extent tamed, or in the least degree turned from his purpose. He was not even ruffled! The surf of her fury had beat against his cliffs, and then he said he was sorry to see her bruised.
There was the stab of defeat. Thrust a sword into a pool, and where it touches the water it seems to bend. Such is the sweet obliquity of a woman's mind that, in its clearness, her defeat may seem better than triumph. He was rather a nice monster, this Brand; friendly in a quaint way, very frank in his admiration, and, whether she liked it or not, determined to save her from the Russian marriage. She was very angry still—with the Chancellor!
When at last she gave the Chancellor audience, her face was hard, her manner cheerful, her bearing defiant.
"Ulster," she said, "I've failed."
The statesman was not such a fool as to ask for reasons. Well he knew the danger signals, the anger growing in her eyes, as she spoke with the directness of a man.
"Mr. Brand," she continued, "wrote you a letter, part of which you told me, the other part kept back. Give me the letter!"
"Oh, madam, not that, I implore you."