It runs as follows: 

     “MY DEAR FRANK,

     “I know you won’t like what I have to say, but it has to be
     said.  Believe me, it costs me as much to write as you to
     read—­perhaps more.

     “It is this:  Our engagement must be at an end.

     “You have a perfect right to ask me for reasons, so I will give
     them at once, as I don’t want to open the subject again.  It
     would do no kind of good.  My mind is absolutely made up.

“My main reason is this:  When I became engaged to you I did not know you properly.  I thought you were quite different from what you are.  I thought that underneath all your nice wildness, and so on, there was a very solid person.  And I hinted that, you will remember, in my first letter, which I suppose you have received just before this.  And now I simply can’t think that any longer.

“I don’t in the least blame you for being what you are:  that’s not my business.  But I must just say this—­that a man who can do what you’ve done, not only for a week or two, as I thought at first, as a sort of game, but for nearly three months, and during that time could leave me with only three or four postcards and no news; above all, a man who could get into such disgrace and trouble, and actually go to prison, and yet not seem to mind much—­well, it isn’t what I had thought of you.

     “You see, there are a whole lot of things together.  It isn’t
     just this or that, but the whole thing.

“First you became a Catholic, without telling me anything until just before.  I didn’t like that, naturally, but I didn’t say anything.  It isn’t nice for a husband and wife to be of different religions.  Then you ran away from Cambridge; then you got mixed up with this man you speak of in your letter to Jack; and you must have been rather fond of him, you know, to go to prison for him, as I suppose you did.  And yet, after all that, I expect you’ve gone to meet him again in York.  And then there’s the undeniable fact of prison.

“You see, it’s all these things together—­one after another.  I have defended you to your father again and again; I haven’t allowed anybody to abuse you without standing up for you; but it really has gone too far.  You know I did half warn you in that other letter.  I know you couldn’t have got it till just now, but that wasn’t my fault; and the letter shows what I was thinking, even three months ago.

“Don’t be too angry with me, Frank.  I’m very fond of you still, and I shall always stand up for you when I can.  And please don’t answer this in any way.  Jack Kirkby isn’t answering just yet.  I asked him not, though he doesn’t know why.

“Your father is going to send the news that the engagement is
broken off to the newspapers.

“Yours sincerely,
“JENNY LAUNTON.”