He was to all intents and purposes a disappointed man.

Years before, when his eyes were bright with the fires of youth, and hope was strong in his heart, he had invested such money as he possessed in the purchase of a practice at Castledene, and it had proved to be a failure--why, no one exactly knew.
Castledene was one of the prettiest little towns in Kent.

It had a town-hall, a market-place, a weekly market, and the remains of a fine old castle; but it was principally distinguished for its races, a yearly event which brought a great influx of visitors to the town.

It was half buried in foliage, surrounded by dense woods and green hills, with a clear, swift river running by.

The inhabitants were divided into three distinct classes--the poor, who gained a scanty livelihood by working in the fields, the shop-keepers, and the gentry, the latter class consisting principally of old maids and widows, ladies of unblemished gentility and limited means.