Miss Theodora: a West End Story
Copyright© 2026 by Helen Leah Reed
Chapter 8
“Yes, it was a pleasant funeral,” said Miss Chatterwits, as she sat sewing one morning at Miss Theodora’s. Kate, who was present, laughed at the speech, although she understood Miss Chatterwits’ idiosyncracies in the matter of funerals. To the latter, funerals were sources of real delight, and few at the West End were ungraced by her presence. In her best gown of shining black silk, with its rows and rows of bias ruffles, she seemed as necessary to the proper conduct of the ceremony as the undertaker himself. With her wide acquaintance among the people of the neighborhood, she could decide exactly the proper place for each mourner; she knew just who belonged in the back and who in the front parlor, and the grave demeanor with which she assigned each one his seat hardly hid her air of bustling satisfaction.
Miss Theodora and Kate were therefore not shocked when she repeated, “Yes, it was a pleasant funeral,” continuing: “I declare, I don’t think there was a soul there I didn’t know. I was able to be real useful showing them where to sit. You should have seen the flowers. It took us the best part of a day to fix them. The family, of course, felt too bad to take much notice of the flowers, but I guess they enjoyed the choir singing. Mary Timpkins herself would have been pleased to see how well everything went off, for she always was so fussy about things.”
Then, as no one interrupted her, she continued: “It’s just a shame, Miss Theodora, that you did not go yourself. Mr. Blunt made the most edifying remarks you ever heard. Why, I almost cried, though you know I’ve had a great deal of experience in such occasions; and if you’d heard him I’m sure you’d have been miserable for the rest of the day.”
Kate smiled at the thought of the pleasure her cousin had missed in escaping this misery, but Miss Theodora, not noticing Miss Chatterwits’ humor, responded merely:
“Ah! the death of so young a person is always sad.”
“Especially under such painful circumstances,” added Miss Chatterwits.
“What circumstances?” asked Kate, now interested.
“Love!” answered Miss Chatterwits, solemnly. “She died of love.”
“Love!” echoed Kate. “Shakespeare says nobody ever died of love.” Then, with an afterthought: “Perhaps he was thinking only of men. But why do you think Miss Timpkins died of love? She didn’t look as foolish as that.”
“Well,”—and Miss Chatterwits shook her head in joyful significance, for it always pleased her to have news of this kind to tell, —”I guess if Hiram Bradstreet hadn’t gone and left her she’d be alive to-day.”
“What nonsense!” said Kate.
“Oh, you can smile, but I’ve sewed at her house by the week running, and he’d come sometimes two afternoons together to ask her to go to walk somewhere; and even if she was in the middle of trying on she’d drop everything and run, looking as pleased as could be.”
“Any one would look pleased to escape a trying on.”
“Oh, you can make light of it. But once when I said I guessed I’d be fitting a wedding dress soon, she colored right up, and said she, ‘Oh, we’re only friends.’”
“That’s nothing.”
“Perhaps it was nothing when Mary Timpkins began to fade the very minute she heard Hiram Bradstreet was engaged to a girl he met on the steamer last summer. Why did he go to Europe anyway?”
“Probably because Mary Timpkins wouldn’t marry him; for truly, Miss Chatterwits, I’m going to agree with Dr. Jones that she died of typhoid fever.”
“Maybe, —after she’d run herself down worrying about Hiram Bradstreet.”
“Oh, no. Hiram Bradstreet, worrying about her, fled to Europe in despair, and let his heart be caught in the rebound by that girl on the steamer.”
This sensible conclusion, though at the time uttered half in fun, was characteristic of Kate. She was loath to believe that a well balanced girl could die of love. Love in the abstract troubled her as little as love in the concrete. She seldom indulged in sentimental thoughts, much less in sentimental conversation.
In their distaste for sentimentality, Ernest and Kate met on common ground; and even Mrs. Digby, though at one time disposed to discountenance their intimacy, at length decided there was no danger of her somewhat self-willed daughter’s falling in love with her penniless cousin. In time, however, as Ernest boy-like, found his pleasure more and more in things outside the house, Miss Theodora and Kate drew nearer together.