Miss Theodora: a West End Story
Copyright© 2026 by Helen Leah Reed
Chapter 18
Mrs. Fetchum pressed her face close to the window pane to watch Miss Theodora enter her door.
“It seems to me Miss Theodora ain’t quite as firm on her feet as she used to be. Don’t you think she stoops some?” she said to her husband.
“Miss Theodora’s getting along,” was the answer. “She’s not as young as she was.”
“She isn’t older than Mrs. Stuart Digby, but she’s had a sight more care. Well, speaking of angels, there she is now,”—and the good woman’s voice trembled with excitement as Mrs. Digby’s victoria drew up before Miss Theodora’s door.
From time to time Mrs. Digby’s horses scornfully pawed the pavement in front of Miss Theodora’s house, while the owner waited for her cousin to get ready for the drive. Miss Theodora never greatly enjoyed these drives, for a certain condescension in Mrs. Digby’s manner always disturbed her. She knew, too, that she was seldom invited unless the latter had some object of her own to serve. On the present occasion they were hardly seated in the carriage before the special purpose of this drive was revealed.
“Kate is a great trial to me, Theodora. Would you believe, I can’t get her to take the least interest in society? Why, I couldn’t make her go to the cotillions this winter. With her bright manner she would be very popular; and it’s too provoking to think, after all the advantages she’s had, she fairly throws herself away on old ladies and colored children, —and I do wish that you’d help me.”
Miss Theodora trembled as if guilty herself of some misdeed. “What can I do?” she asked faintly, knowing well enough that it was she who had interested Kate in the Old Ladies’ Home and the colored children.
Mrs. Digby seemed to read her thoughts. “Of course, I don’t want her to give up her reading to the old ladies altogether. But I do wish you could make her realize her obligations to society. I can’t myself. Why, she refuses all invitations, and hardly ever goes even to her sewing circle. The next thing she’ll be taking vows at St. Margaret’s or doing something equally absurd.”
Miss Theodora, though aware of the hopelessness of so doing, promised to use her influence with Kate.
Mrs. Digby herself was born for society, and it was a trial even greater than she had represented to Miss Theodora that her daughter should be so indifferent to the great world.
“Kate has style,” she said to her cousin, “and manner, and if she only would exert herself to please my friends to the extent that she exerts herself to please nobodies, I should have little to complain of. Poor Stuart’s death was very unfortunate, happening just the winter Kate was ready to come out. It put an end, of course, to all the plans I had made for her among the younger set. She didn’t mind missing balls and parties herself, for she never cared for that kind of thing; but I do think, now that she is out of mourning, that she might take a little interest in society, and at least accept some of the dinner invitations she has.”
“But she does go out a good deal, doesn’t she?” began Miss Theodora, remembering some of Kate’s humorous accounts of amusing episodes connected with various little dinner parties she had attended.
“Oh, yes; I often insist on her going with me; and once in a while there is some invitation she really wishes to accept. But it is the duty of a girl of her age to be seen more in society; and I do wish that she could be made to understand that she owes something to her position and to her family.”
“Well, I will speak to her,” said Miss Theodora, “but I doubt if I can influence her to any great extent.”
“Indeed you can,” responded Mrs. Digby. “You know how I feel, I am sure. I don’t want Kate to be an old maid, and she’s older now than I was when I married. Thus far, she has not had the slightest interest in any young man, although she has plenty of admirers. Perhaps I ought to be thankful for this, for it would be just in line with her general perversity for her to fall in love with some thoroughly unsuitable person.”
Possibly Miss Theodora, with Ernest ever in mind, was unusually sensitive in detecting undue emphasis in Mrs. Digby’s pronunciation of “any” when she said that Kate had not the “slightest interest in any young man.” Or perhaps Mrs. Digby, too, had Ernest in mind when she made this sweeping statement.
Two people could hardly be more unlike than Kate and her mother. Mrs. Digby was of dark complexion, of commanding figure, though not over tall, and she lived for society. Kate was blond, with a half-timid, though straightforward air, and she was as anxious to keep far from the whirl of things as her mother was to be active in her little set. Mrs. Digby had worn heavy mourning for her husband the exact length of time demanded by strict propriety. But just as soon as she could, she laid aside her veil and, indeed, crepe in every form, and gave outer shape to her grief by clothing herself in becoming black relieved by abundant trimmings of dull jet.
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