Time had done something for him mentally, insomuch as he had read a great many books and cultivated his mind in the monotonous quiet of Fellside.

Altogether he was a superior man for the passage of those forty years.
He had married within the time, choosing for himself the buxom daughter of a lodgekeeper, whose wife had long been laid at rest in Grasmere churchyard.

The buxom girl had grown into a bulky matron, but she was a colourless personage, and her existence made hardly any difference in James Steadman's life.

She had brought him no children, and their fireside was lonely; but Steadman seemed to be one of those self-contained personages to whom a solitary life is no affliction.
'I hope I see you in better health, my lady,' he said, standing straight and square, like a soldier on parade.
'I am better, thank you, Steadman; better, but a poor lifeless log chained to this sofa.

I sent for you because the time has come when I must talk to you upon a matter of business.