I see James as always standing apart, unable to get involved with anything more than polite conversation - always distant and an outsider. This is not only in closeness with his family and friends, but also in a difficult situation such as the one with his servants.
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For so many years now he had had no country, no family, no establishment of his own, merely a flat in London where he worked. He did not have the necessary shell, and his exposure over the years had left him nervous and exhausted and fearful. It was as though he lived a life which lacked a façade, a stretch of frontage to protect him from the world. Lamb House would offer him beautiful old windows from which to view the outside; the outside, in turn, could peer in only at his invitation. (Pages 130-131)
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A solitary soul, who could only communicate with people through his writing, and also manipulate them - which I suppose most writers do to a greater or lesser extent.