to Miss Monroe

Skerryvore, Bournemouth, May 25th, 1886.

DEAR MISS MONROE,—(I hope I have this rightly) I must lose no time in thanking you for a letter singularly pleasant to receive.  It may interest you to know that I read to the signature without suspecting my correspondent was a woman; though in one point (a reference to the Countess) I might have found a hint of the truth.  You are not pleased with Otto; since I judge you do not like weakness; and no more do I.  And yet I have more than tolerance for Otto, whose faults are the faults of weakness, but never of ignoble weakness, and who seeks before all to be both kind and just.  Seeks, not succeeds.  But what is man?  So much of cynicism to recognise that nobody does right is the best equipment for those who do not wish to be cynics in good earnest.  Think better of Otto, if my plea can influence you; and this I mean for your own sake—not his, poor fellow, as he will never learn your opinion; but for yours, because, as men go in this world (and women too), you will not go far wrong if you light upon so fine a fellow; and to light upon one and not perceive his merits is a calamity.  In the flesh, of course, I mean; in the book the fault, of course, is with my stumbling pen.  Seraphina made a mistake about her Otto; it begins to swim before me dimly that you may have some traits of Seraphina?

With true ingratitude you see me pitch upon your exception; but it is easier to defend oneself gracefully than to acknowledge praise.  I am truly glad that you should like my books; for I think I see from what you write that you are a reader worth convincing.  Your name, if I have properly deciphered it, suggests that you may be also something of my countrywoman; for it is hard to see where Monroe came from, if not from Scotland.  I seem to have here a double claim on your good nature: being myself pure Scotch and having appreciated your letter, make up two undeniable merits which, perhaps, if it should be quite without trouble, you might reward with your photograph.—Yours truly,

Robert Louis Stevenson.