"Mr. Orr, sir."
Annandale, who had been far away, looked up. Then he nodded.
A moment and Orr entered, eying Annandale curiously as he came.
"What a deuce of a chap you are," he began.
"Who? I? Why? Why do you say that?"
Orr looked about the room, contemplated a wide lounge of black leather, selected a straight-backed chair instead and seated himself, his hat and stick in his hand.
"You know well enough," he answered. "But there," he added at a protest from Annandale, "I don't propose to scold you. My visit is purely official. Sylvia has asked me to inform you that the engagement is at an end."
Had any little dog which Annandale did not possess run out from nowhere and bit him fiercely on the leg, he could not have started more. He stared at Orr, who stared at him.
"But! It is impossible! What have I done?"
"It would be more to the point," Orr cheerfully replied, "to ask what you have not done. Though just what you did do Sylvia omitted to state. She said she could not."