But I had no evidence that she believed what I had said.
As we walked home together in the early morning, Harlson told me more of the young lady.

She was living with an aunt, he said, and was, otherwise, alone in the world.

She had but a little income, barely enough to live on, but she had courage unlimited, and tact, and was not insignificant as a social factor.

She had the sturdiness of her ancestry, in which the name of Jean ran.
"I like it," Harlson said; "it fits her--'Jean Cornish'-- little brown 'Jean Cornish'-- little leopardess, little, wise, good woman." I told him that he was mixing his similes, and that in a broad, comprehensive way he had become a fool.
"I tell you I'm in love with her already," he blurted out, "and somehow, some day, I will have her, and wear her and care for her!" "But, my dear boy, don't be insane.

There is the problem we were discussing last night.