With clenched fists and a threatening air she paced the room up and down.

Tears gushed from her eyes; but she shook them out of her eyelashes, so that they fell scattering about her like pearls.

Her father's impetuous and untractable nature stirred within her, and his blood seethed in her veins.
But Thomas Seymour had already regained his self-command and composure.
He approached the princess and despite her struggles clasped her in his arms.
"Little fool!" said he, between his kisses.

"Sweet, dear fool, how beautiful you are in your anger, and how I love you for it! Jealousy is becoming to love; and I do not complain, though you are unjust and cruel toward me.

The queen has much too cold and proud a heart ever to be loved by any man.