Jim did not know women as well as he thought he did.

He did not see that the two met more like two women than like representatives of opposite sexes.

He did not see that the sympathy between the pair was the sympathy of two natures which would be the happiest in dependence, and that Miss Butterworth could no more have chosen Mr.Benedict for a husband than she could have chosen her own sister.
Mr.Benedict had never been informed by Jim of the name of the woman whom he hoped to make his wife, but he saw at once, and with sincere pleasure, that he was in her presence; and when he had finished what he had to say to her, and again heartily expressed his pleasure in renewing her acquaintance, he rose to go.
"Jim, I will not cut your call short, but I must get back, to my room and prepare for to-morrow's journey.

Let me leave you here, and find my way back to my lodgings alone." "All right," said Jim, "but we ain't goin' home to-morrer." Benedict bade Miss Butterworth "good-night," but, as he was passing out of the room, Jim remembered that there was something that he wished to say to him, and so passed out with him, telling Miss Butterworth that he should soon return.
When the door closed behind them, and they stood alone in the darkness, Jim said, with his hand on his companion's shoulder, and an awful lie in his throat: "I brung ye here hopin' ye'd take a notion to this little woman.

She'd do more for ye nor anybody else.