The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of delight for both Jim and Pam; not that they ever admitted as much to each other, except by the beaming light in their eyes, or that they would have said so to anyone else, for while Jim was entirely aware of his feelings for Pam, he was also aware that they were inappropriate feelings for any man to have towards an engaged woman, while Pam was almost completely oblivious not only to the degree but to the direction of her feeling for Jim. She was at turns convinced that her giddy gaiety was the result of successfully pulling off a ball of this magnitude upon such short notice; that the wine must be particularly intoxicating that night for some strange reason, which meant she should talk to the caterers about their choice of spirits; that she was simply dizzy from a prolonged bout of twirling in the waltz; anything but that she was finding out what it was like to spend time with someone connected to your soul, not merely your heart, and whose place in your life was a result of an innate resonance between your minds rather than a habitual affection based on historical proximity. She was, in short, truly infatuated in the first time in her life, and entirely unaware of the fact.

She might have realized her state had she contemplated deeply on the one moment in the evening that seemed to shine out less brightly than the rest. This was when Jim was pulled aside by Colonel Scott for an “urgent conference” in the stairwell and she was left to cool her heels by the refreshment table. She barely noticed Ryan Howard doing his best to make up to her, or Mark, Viscount Banbury, laughing at him, or even the soda-water in her hands (having laid off the wine at an earlier point in the evening because of the aforementioned concern about intoxication). She could not have told you how long she stood and sipped mechanically, staring at the swirling couples on the floor before her, but in truth it was not long before the return of Jim to her side and the smile to her face.

For Jim it had felt even longer than for Pam, not solely because of his absence from her side and hers from his but also because of the necessity of dealing with Michael Scott in full form. Does she like me followed hard upon why won’t she love me, and it took Jim a full minute to discover that the She in question was Jan, Dowager Duchess of Hereford. Not being intimately acquainted with the lady in question, he could only respond with hums and haws to Michael’s heartworn inquiries, with the occasional quirk of the head and slight grimace—but this seemed to be all that was required, as Michael’s incessant self-concern thrust on past any question of response. The rest of his brain was occupied—beyond thinking of Pam and maintaining an apparent involvement in what might generously be called a conversation—with the question of why Colonel Michael Scott had chosen him as a confidante. Fortunately, as he had made little headway on this question, that worthy relieved him of wonder on that point by blurting out towards the end of a particularly morose disclosure about his misfortunes in love an expression of extreme gratitude for “being my best friend.”

Jim considered rebutting this as a ridiculous supposition, but a moment’s thought gave him substantial pause and he reconsidered. Who, after all, might Colonel Scott call friend? He seemed—as the torrent of discourse had revealed—surprisingly sensitive and aware of the fact that most (if not all) of those attending his parties were there to goggle rather than out of any genuine connection, and the rest of those who seemed to bear him in esteem or even amiability—Miss Beesly, Lieutenant Schrute—were technically not only in his employ but explicitly employed to make it look as if they cared about him, thus making it difficult or indeed impossible to judge their true feelings. Jim was uncertain whether he himself felt much more than pity for the Colonel, but he could not deny that he felt no prurient desire to see the man flail about, nor was he paid to coddle or support him. He was, in short, a friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance, someone who bore the Colonel no ill will and indeed perhaps owed him something more akin to a quiet gratitude for the invitation—and the introduction to Miss Beesly. So perhaps he was Michael’s best, if not only, friend. That thought saddened him for Michael, but it also gave him an impetus to become more involved in the conversation. If he was Michael’s friend, he would act like it. He would earn it even if he had not yet. He suggested quietly to Michael that perhaps throwing himself blindly at the Dowager Duchess was only calculated to make her confused and dismayed—that perhaps friendship or at least a show of common interests and compatibility might be better suited to wooing such an august and self-composed personage. Or at least, he added, make her think of you more as a potential suitor and less as a—here he rapidly replaced such words as “clown” or “fool” with a more neutral option—mere host. His reward for this suggestion, to his immense surprise, was a most indecorous hug and a grateful assurance that Michael would not forget this. He patted his new friend on the back and made encouraging noises, and was finally released.

He was not insensible, of course, to the idea that what he was recommending to Michael was in its own way a version of what he had already resolved to do himself in regards to Miss Beesly, only with the opposite end in view. He realized as well that this most likely represented a hypocrisy in him, for while he claimed, even on a surface level to himself, to desire only a fast friendship with Miss Beesly and to be struggling against any inclination towards a more…formal and intense association, he was in his depths utterly incapable of letting it go. How else would his advice to Michael of how to woo Jan be so similar to his own plan to not woo Pam? Become friends; treat her and have her treat you as an equal; express your common interests. In short, respect her. He was sure it would help Michael’s cause; how, then, could he be so apparently sure it would doom his own?

Thoughts like these were utterly banished from his mind as he approached Pam and saw her face light up when she caught his eye. He couldn’t help himself; he took her arm and led her to the whist tables, whispering conspiratorially in her ear: “I have got to tell you about Michael.”