She had never seen that look in his eyes before, and the blood rushed back to her heart. She could not answer for a moment; her lips moved without words.
“Do you hear?” he repeated sternly. “What have you been doing to-night?”
“I sang, you know I sang,” she replied at last, but her eyes quivered and shrank away from his, and there was something about her like a child expecting a blow.
But William did not heed it; he was still white with passion.
“You did more than sing,” he rejoined coldly. “You danced me into an insult!”
Her eyes dilated.
“An insult—you?”
“Yes, an insult. Father saw you. He came home and told me what he thought of you, and of me for letting you do it!”
Fanchon put her hand to her throat. She felt choked again, but her beautiful, wild, fawn-like eyes clung to his face.
“You danced,” he went on bitterly. “What did you dance? One of those—those fandangoes?”