In the morning, while Sir Michael and his guests were having breakfast, Miss Flax found Pamela in the servant’s room, compiling the list of goods she had to order from the village store. 

‘How are you feeling today, Miss Beesly?’ she asked warm-heartedly. ‘I am afraid yesterday’s evening might have been exhausting for you.’ 

‘I am quite well, thank you,’ Pamela smiled at Miss Flax. ‘Besides, it was only my head and my pride that have been hurt. Nothing I have never dealt before.’ 

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said Miss Flax. ‘I supposed that the newcomers might have gotten bored quickly and could have looked for questionable entertainment, but I did not think they would have found it in your person. But, at least, you caught the attention of ladies, not gentlemen; their interest might be annoying, yet it is harmless.’

Pamela laughed mirthlessly, imaging vividly what kind of attention she might have gained from a gentleman and the harm had been already done to her.

‘I shall consider myself blessed then. Besides, I am sure I could shield myself from the exceeding visibility. The ladies, even if they are dying with boredom, will  barely follow me into the dairy or poultry.’

‘But they could always send for you,’ said Miss Flax.

‘That is true. Then my only hope is that the gentlemen would come to my rescue and distract the ladies from my humble person. I doubt that I am a more interesting subject than men’s attention or even the detuned piano.’

She first laughed at her own joke, and Miss Flax smiled in return. At least, thought Pamela, nothing could be hopeless if she retained the ability to laugh at the little silliness and follies — even if that laugh mixed with tears.

 Miss Flax was right; Pamela was demanded almost at every next evening's gatherings to serve, give pieces of advice, and suffer from improper remarks of Sir Michael and Mrs. Howard. Pamela was silent for most of the time, but she was not blind, even if she was eager to blind herself with loyalty and affection. She would not admit to Miss Flax, though, but these gatherings gave her a lot of observations to reflect on. 

The main wonder she pondered over was the interior reasons that motivated Mr. Howard to insist on her presence even if it was not, in fact, as necessary as he had told her. The suspicion appeared on the third evening when Mr. Howard asked Pamela to share her memories about the way late Lady Scott had ruled the mansion and threw a sideway glance at Lady Levinson while Pamela was speaking; this suspicion became stronger with every added word and action. And she would have genuinely enjoyed this more or less subtle game if it had not involved the people she cared about. 

One of the grandest acts of this play concerned the choice of the doctor for Sir Michael. Dr. Bratton, who was healing the villagers of Dunder-Mifflin as well as the habitants of Dunder Hall and all surrounding farms for at least twenty years, arrived in time, examined Sir Michael and concluded that the landlord was healthy as a bull and prescripted to drink a pint of eggnog at least twice a day. But his heavy Yorkshire accent and the stains on his clothes remaining after a bloodletting made the ladies horrified. ‘Inconceivable! How could this man call himself a doctor?’ they said again and again. ‘He is a savage! He would probably heal Sir Michael to death!’ The idea to send for another doctor appeared immediately. But for whom to send? 

Mr. Howard suggested writing to Dr. Underbridge, who had quite a prominent practice in London; Lady Levinson insisted on sending for Dr. Hunter, who was not as famous as Dr. Underbridge but had recently graduated from the University of Edinburgh and had terrific recommendations. The virtues and lacks of every candidate were discussed agitatedly; Sir Michael listened to the debates with great pleasure and even more considerable confusion. This attention to his well-being flattered his pride, but Sir Michael could not understand why the service of Dr. Bratton was not good enough; after some convincing, though, he agreed that the man with his position in the society should be examined by a doctor from the city indeed. But the winning candidate, despite the endless arguing and persuasions, remained undefined. 

After the first week, Pamela changed her opinion. The scenes she was observing were not parts of the play — rather, the battles in the undeclared war between Mr. Howard and Lady Levinson for the favour of Sir Michael; or, to be precise, for Sir Michael’s title and money. Each side had its tactics and allies, small victories, and sacrifices for the more significant gain.

Mr. Howard, who intended to remain the only heir, with more or less subtlety, reminded Sir Michael constantly about the family values, the connection between generations, and the duties of the patriarch. That was why he had invited Mr. Flenderson to arrive at Dunder Hall, and then — had asked Pamela to join the gatherings; they ought to be the living reminder of the woman he had lost and to whom he had been faithful for so long. 

But all the attention Mr. Howard gave to Sir Michael could not compare to that kind of care that a man in love desiderated; Sir Michael was sure he was in love with Lady Levinson, and she did not dissuade him. Her migraines she had suffered almost every day, had gone without a trace; her smiles were gracious, she kept a place near her for Sir Michael, asked his opinion and encouraged his courtship in a way only a true lady could do. She received even more letters though none of them were handed to Sir Michael as before. Sir Michael was delighted with such a change in her demeanor and could not stop telling Pamela how happy he was. But Pamela thought with sadness that in one way or another, he would be hurt. 

For sure, Miss Flax was aware of Lady Levinson’s intentions; to her credit, she did nothing that could give benefit to Lady Levinson’s plan. Miss Flax became the constant fourth player at the card table, and, though, her presence should have secured Lady Levinson’s position, Miss Flax did not encourage her mistress’ innuendos and even made some waggish remarks — to Sir Michael’s delight and Lady Levinson’s annoyance. 

Pamela wondered if the people who had come with Mr. Howard or had been invited by him knew about his plan — judging by the surprise of Mr. Flenderson, the complaints of Mrs. Howard and the disinterest of Miss Filippelli, she doubted it. Mr. Halpert knew, though, or, at least, had his suspicions; he was too smart to miss the apparent indications. He did not try to flatter Sir Michael or support Mr. Howard in his subtle antagonism with Lady Levinson; he spoke to Sir Michael and almost all his households with genuine friendliness, and Pamela almost saw the man she had known once. But then, Mr. Schrute appeared, to boast that he had compiled his lectures, that he had sent them as Sir Michael had suggested and expected for an answer soon; when Mr. Schrute appeared, the friendly smile on Mr. Halpert’s face turned into a malicious one, and Pamela just sighed at such an evolution of his character. 

The day followed the day, the week followed the week, and the month, since Mr. Howard and his friends had arrived, had passed. At the end of this month, the tension and the mutual irritation of the habitants of Dunder Hall was palpable. Pamela surprisingly found herself a confidant for the guests of Sir Michael — and the master himself. It was Pamela who listened to Mrs. Howard’s complaints about the insufferable boredom and the delay of the promising ball; it was Pamela who provided entertainment to Miss Filippelli at her first request; it was Pamela who cheered Mr. Flenderson up every time he told her about sorrowful incidents in his life. And more than once, when Miss Filippelli made especially sarcastic girds to display her dissatisfaction with the weather, the routine in Dunder Hall or Yorkshire in general, Pamela caught the gaze of Mr. Halpert, seeking for compassion. And though Pamela appreciated the feeling of valuation she received, her soul was tired, and she desperately wanted for a change. 

This change appeared sooner than she hoped and in a form that bewildered and shocked everyone. Mr. Schrute had received an answer from Oxford; the letter had said his manuscripts would have been published as a book, and the author would have gotten five hundred pounds as royalties. After the clergyman had read the letter, he, as his housekeeper recalled lately, had taken his hat and his cane and left his cabinet — only to walk three miles between the parsonage and Beesly’s farm where he, without further ado, had had a talk with Mr. Beesly and had asked for a hand of Miss Martin. She had agreed without hesitation. 

‘Who could have guessed?’ exclaimed Sir Michael cheerfully as the news about the engagement of Mr. Schrute and Miss Martin reached Dunder Hall. ‘I was sure he would be celibate until the end of his days!’ 

The matter of marriage, as it happened often, was discussed vividly; and Pamela took great pleasure at the look of abashment painted across Mr. Halpert’s face. He had wanted to laugh at Mr. Schrute’s predicament but, for sure, did not expect that his trick would have had such unexpected consequences. 

‘Well, a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,’ said Mr. Halpert, trying to hide his feelings behind his usual good humor. ‘And he has a great bit of luck that he found a willing woman so quickly.’ 

Pamela bit her lip, smiling, and shook her head. She prided herself for her insight, and yet, she could not have been more blind when it was concerning the affection between the clergyman and her cousin. The way Mr. Schrute had always asked Miss Martin to dance even if she had consistently declined the offer, the way Miss Martin had discussed the sermons with the relatives, even if they had not shown much enthusiasm. And the way Mr. Schrute had glanced at Beesly’s bench when he had spoken about matrimony — Pamela had thought that he had scolded her for the broken engagement, but it had been his occasion to talk to Miss Martin about his intentions. How stupid Pamela was! Well, if it had been a lesson of humility, she would have deserved it. 

‘You have another opinion, don’t you, Miss Beesly?’ Pamela raised her head, alarmed, to see as Mr. Halpert squinted his eyes at her. 

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I did not expect that turn of events, though I am not surprised much. Mr. Schrute and Miss Martin knew each other for a long time, their characters are suited well, and they have not met any objections against the union. I am glad that this fortunate circumstance allows them to get married. I expect them to be as happy as they could be.’

It was her peace offering, her way to let him know that she was aware of his intervention and appreciated it. But somehow, her response irked him even more. 

‘So, if Mr. Schrute did not receive some money, he would not marry the woman he loves? I am astonished by his patience then.’ 

‘Perhaps, they would have waited more, before they could have afforded the marriage. But I suppose the inability to get married immediately gave them enough time to test their feelings, and now they are quite confident in each other's attachments.’

‘I feel pity for Mr. Schrute if he had to wait for so long,’ Mr. Halpert said with a smirk. ‘But, probably, their feelings were not passionate enough if they were content with the waiting.’ 

‘I know nothing about the relationship between Mr. Schrute and my cousin,’ said Pamela, her voice shook with a fit of anger at Mr. Halpert’s mockery. ‘Perhaps, their feelings are not as ardent and fiery as other people want them to be, but it does not mean that their connection is lesser or weaker for that. It would have been much worse if they had taken an infatuation for the deep feeling, eloped, and then, when the feeling had faded, had been miserable together. Especially if they had met and loved other persons who could have made them much happier.’ 

‘Infatuation?’ repeated Mr. Halpert, and Pamela was horrified to recognize the hurt in his voice and his expression. ‘Is this what you believe in? Infatuation?’

‘I would be glad to be mistaken,’ said Pamela quietly, lowering her eyes to hide unwanted tears. She was grateful to Mrs. Howard, who chose that moment to declare. 

‘I think time and the strength of love do not connect at all. How long had we known each other before you asked for my hand, my love? Two weeks and not a day longer! And I am sure I could not be happier with someone else!’