There is a young woman in Avonsbridge, Susan Bennett by name, who, from an unfortunate slip of the tongue of mine, hates you, as all women do hate one another (except one woman, whom I once had the honor of meeting every day for four weeks, which fact may have made me a less bad fellow than I used to be, God knows--if there is a God, and if He does know any thing).

Well, what I had to say is, beware of Susan Bennett, and beware of another person, who thinks herself much superior to Bennett, and yet they are as like as two peas--Miss Gascoigne.

Defend yourself; you may need it.

And as the best way to defend you, I mean immediately to leave Avonsbridge--perhaps for personal reasons also, discretion being the better part of valor, and you being so confoundedly like an angel still.

Good-by.