But Framsby is a queer place. It has eight thousand inhabitants and three distinct “sets” of gentility. The aristocracy of the town is made up of the family of a land agent, the family of a retired physician, the family of a solicitor still in practice, the family of a clergyman’s widow, whose grandfather once “had the hounds,” as she tells you before you have quite made up your mind whether the day is quite wonderful for this time of the year, or if you mean to attend the forthcoming Sale of Work. These and the elderly wife of a retired colonial civil servant made up the ruling “set” at Framsby. They were on golfing terms with the other sets, but socially they declined to look on them as their equals. The other sets consisted of the bank managers, two of the three doctors and their families--for some reason or other the third doctor, with a foolish talkative wife and a couple of exceedingly plain daughters, had _entrée_ at the aristocratic gatherings--a couple of retired officers of Sappers and their families, and some officials, the county surveyor, the master of the grammar school, and the manager of the brewery, each with his _entourage_. Of course the clergymen of the Established Church and their families were, _ex officio_, members of all sets, but it was clearly understood by the ruling party that they were only admitted on sufferance--they must at all times recollect that they were only honorary members, without any power of voting or vetoing on any of the great questions of leaving cards on strangers, or of the membership of the Badminton Club. And the funny part of the matter was that while the members of the best set were neither people of good family nor people who were in the least degree interesting in themselves, whereas several of the other set were both well born and educated, no one was found to dispute the fact that the one was the right set and the other the wrong set.