For Mr.Masters was a man much respected through all Dillsborough, partly on his own account, but more perhaps for the sake of his father and grandfather.
He was a round-faced, clean-shorn man, with straggling grey hair, who always wore black clothes and a white cravat.

There was something in his appearance which recommended him among his neighbours, who were disposed to say he "looked the gentleman;" but a stranger might have thought his cheeks to be flabby and his mouth to be weak.
Making a circle, or the beginning of a circle, round the fire, were Nupper, the doctor,--a sporting old bachelor doctor who had the reputation of riding after the hounds in order that he might be ready for broken bones and minor accidents; next to him, in another arm-chair, facing the fire, was Ned Botsey, the younger of the two brewers from Norrington, who was in the habit during the hunting season of stopping from Saturday to Monday at the Bush, partly because the Rufford hounds hunted on Saturday and Monday and on those days seldom met in the Norrington direction, and partly because he liked the sporting conversation of the Dillsborough Club.

He was a little man, very neat in his attire, who liked to be above his company, and fancied that he was so in Mr.Runciman's parlour.
Between him and the attorney's chair was Harry Stubbings, from Stanton Corner, the man who let out hunters, and whom Twentyman had threatened to thrash.

His introduction to the club had taken place lately, not without some opposition; but Runciman had set his foot upon that, saying that it was "all d---- nonsense." He had prevailed, and Twentyman had consented to meet the man; but there was no great friendship between them.

Seated back on the sofa was Mr.Ribbs, the butcher, who was allowed into the society as being a specially modest man.