Hera raised her brows and waited for him to continue with an explanation for his comment. But there wasn't one forthcoming. He simply ended there, as though that were the end of the matter. It had nothing to do with her abilities as a goddess. Was that the only thing he considered?
She crossed her arms, tucked her chin downward and gave him a long, telling look. “Then pray tell, dear brother, why did you call on Zeus?”
She should have ended it there, she should have waited for him to answer. But there was something about what he said that got under her skin, and Hera blurted out, “Is it because you think your brother has experience with women? Because of his... proclivities? Because let me tell you, he's not really that talented when it comes to women. A better option would have been to ask a woman, and why would you not ask the sister that loves you? Why?”
After her outburst, Hera clamped her mouth shut, her lips compressed in a tight line. She tried, very hard, to portray a woman in control, cool and calm, chilly as ice, smooth as marble and just as solid. But once in a while, bursts of passion would explode from beneath that frozen surface, usually in fits of temper. Or in this case, a bit of a temper tantrum over hurt feelings. To say anything more, however, would only compound the mistake made by spewing it all out there to begin with. So Hera simply lifted her chin and waited for his answers, as if that were her plan all along.