Marmaduke blushed up to the ears; why, he knew not. Then he said stiffly--
"I'd rather not, Sir John."
The refusal was opportune for the fandango; it roused the old man's arrogance.
"Why not, sir?" he asked angrily. "You'd never get a better partner. Here, Fantine, my dear," he added, raising his voice, "this oaf of a boy of mine says he can dance the fandango! Show him he can't, there's a good girl!"
"I will do my leetle best, milor," she replied, with a maliciously provocative smile that would have incited anyone of spirit to action.
"I am at mademoiselle's command for tuition," said Marmaduke, with a fine bow.
His head was ringing, his pulses bounding. He was divided between anger and delight, between a desire to teach the little devil and his father a lesson, and keen pleasure at the thought of the coming dance.
A minute after he stood making his bow beside La Fantine.
"Do you really know it?" she had whispered.
"Better than you do," he had whispered back brutally. "I've danced it in the pot-houses of Habana."