A Broken Blossom, Vol. 3 of 3 by Florence Marryat

The day wore on, and Charlie Sandilands did not come. I was standing at the window towards evening, wondering at his absence, and blaming my folly in having spoken to him as I did, when I perceived the white hat and red cherries of Miss Markham bobbing up the street. I had taken quite an aversion to this woman. I had detected her in so much falsehood and exaggeration, and I knew her to be so malicious and ill-natured, that I avoided her company whenever it was possible to do so. I should have been obliged, however, to live in my bedroom had I contrived to elude her altogether; for hardly a morning passed without her spending two or three hours at our house. The only days she did not honour us were those on which she knew that Mr. Charteris would be shooting in the forest. On his fishing excursions she was almost sure to track and follow him. When her dear friend, Mrs. Carolus, had told me that her conduct with this gentleman was a scandal, I had been quite unable to believe that any woman of middle age and mediocre attractions could possibly be so foolish as to think herself capable of touching the heart of a young, handsome, worldly man like Cave Charteris. But it was easy for any one to believe it now.

I had seen Mr. Charteris laugh at or repulse her, just as the humour took him; but, apparently impervious to either ridicule or rudeness, she still pursued him, indoors or out of doors, although he often put on his hat as soon as she appeared, and left the house by the back way. To Tessie, and Ange, and myself, Miss Markham had become a perfect nuisance, for, wherever she might be, she monopolised the conversation, which always ran in the most egotistical manner on herself, her admirers, and her triumphs. Mr. Lovett was the only creature who welcomed her; and whether it was that they were equally vain, self-seeking, and fond of flattery I know not, but they always seemed to get on together. The old man continued to affirm that Miss Markham was one of the most intelligent and agreeable ladies he knew, and she never lost an opportunity of lauding his personal merits and his talents, or of rebuking the girls for not paying him sufficient attention. Until at last I began to fear whether she might not turn the foolish old man's brain to that extent that he would really imagine his daughters were not as devoted and loving and obedient as they possibly could be.