Bursley, and it was emphatically the club to which it behoved the golden
youth of the town to belong. To Denry's generation the Conservative Club
and the Liberal Club did not seem like real clubs; they were machinery
for politics, and membership carried nearly no distinction with it. But
the Sports Club had been founded by the most dashing young men of
Hillport, which is the most aristocratic suburb of Bursley and set on a
lofty eminence. The sons of the wealthiest earthenware manufacturers
made a point of belonging to it, and, after a period of disdain, their
fathers also made a point of belonging to it. It was housed in an old
mansion, with extensive grounds and a pond and tennis courts; it had a
working agreement with the Golf Club and with the Hillport Cricket Club.
But chiefly it was a social affair. The correctest thing was to be seen
there at nights, rather late than early; and an exact knowledge of card
games and billiards was worth more in it than prowess on the field.

It was a club in the Pall Mall sense of the word.

And Denry still lived in insignificant Brougham Street, and his mother
was still a sempstress! These were apparently insurmountable truths. All
the men whom he knew to be members were somehow more dashing than Denry
--and it was a question of dash; few things are more mysterious than
dash. Denry was unique, knew himself to be unique; he had danced with a
countess, and yet... these other fellows!... Yes, there are puzzles,
baffling puzzles, in the social career.

In going over on Tuesdays to Hanbridge, where he had a few trifling
rents to collect, Denry often encountered Harold Etches in the tramcar.
At that time Etches lived at Hillport, and the principal Etches
manufactory was at Hanbridge. Etches partook of the riches of his
family, and, though a bachelor, was reputed to have the spending of at