“Dear Rena, I was never so shocked in my life as when I received your letter. You have been up to a good many escapades, larks, or experiments you call them, but this last is the craziest of them all; and I beg you to give it up. It is unworthy of you. It is unwomanly—excuse me for saying so—it is a deception, if not a positive lie, and an imposition upon a good man. I know Reginald Travers. We were in college together and room-mates for two years. He is my best friend and I don’t want him wronged. He is shy and reticent, not at all a ladies’ man. Has no small talk. Knows nothing of girls and their ways, and does not care to know. But he is a gentleman and the soul of honor and would never be guilty of a mean act, and on that account does not suspect meanness in others, and might be easily imposed upon. I do not think he is just your style, but he is a clean, splendid man, and I do not want him fooled by Irene. You say I do not like her, and I admit it. I know she is a fine specimen of flesh and blood, and as artful as she is beautiful. There is no deception at which she would stop, if she hoped to be benefited by it. I am sure of it. It is in her blood—not on your side of the house, not on the Burdick side, thank Heaven! but on her mother’s. She is useful to you because—excuse me, Rena—you do not like trouble, and she takes it all from you, and does it in a purring kind of way which soothes you to sleep, as it were, or shuts your eyes to her real character. Don’t take her to Oakfield. Don’t go there yourself. If you do not like the will and do not mean to have anything to do with it, or with Reginald, say so at once; or if you have a curiosity to see him, wait and let him seek you, as he is sure to do in time, for if he thinks this will imposes a duty on him he is going to fulfil it. He has invited me to visit him in Oakfield, and I had about made up my mind to decline, when I received your letter. Now, if you still persist in this crazy scheme, I shall accept Rex’s invitation; for, Rena, O Rena! I cannot have you compromised in any way? I don’t know as my presence in Oakfield will help you, but if you go, I shall go, too, not to betray you, of course. If you insist upon my keeping silent I promise to do so, for a while at least. “Your loving cousin, “Tom.”