The Three Miss Kings by Ada Cambridge — Read

There was no room for doubt as to what Paul Brion had meant. When the evening of the next day came -- on which there was no Parliament sitting -- he returned to No. 7 to dinner, and after dinner it was apparent that neither professional nor other engagements would have prevented him from enjoying the society of his fair neighbours if he had had a mind for it. His sitting-room opened upon the balcony -- so did theirs; there was but a thin partition between them, and the girls knew not only when he was at home, but to a great extent what he was doing, by the presence and pungency of the odour from his pipe.

When only faint whiffs stole into their open window from time to time, he was in his room, engaged -- it was supposed -- upon those wonderful leading articles which were, to them, the great feature of the paper to whose staff he belonged. At such times -- for the houses in Myrtle Street were of a very lath-and-plastery order -- they were careful to make no noise, and especially not to open their piano, that he might pursue his arduous labours undisturbed. But sometimes on these "off" nights he sat outside his window or strolled up and down the few feet of space allotted to him; and they would hear the rustle of the leaves of books on the other side of the partition, and the smell of his pipe would be very strong.