‘And then I served them biscuits, but only Sir Michael took one. That is so strange. I mean - who refuses biscuits?’

It was Saturday morning in the Dunder Hall. The servants had done their morning deeds and had morning tea before returning to their duties. Sir Michael’s household included a few people besides himself - Mr. Hudson, a butler; Mrs. Vance, a cook; Pamela, a housekeeper; a few maids and stable boys; and Kevin, a footman and Sir Michael’s valet. The latter had served during the gentlemen’s dinner and was describing in a slow and low voice how it had passed. 

‘Oh, Kevin, as much I want to hear about the dinner, there are more important matters to know about,’ said Mrs. Vance, making a cup of tea and giving it to Kevin. ‘Tell us what they were talking about? Where did this Mr. Halpert come from? How long does he plan to stay? Is he married?’

Pamela was silent, mending one of Sir Michael’s shirts, though she caught every word. 

‘In my opinion, it is not our business,’ Mr. Hudson interrupted, folding a newspaper that Sir Michael had given him previously. ‘Mind your pots and kettles, not gentlemen’s conversations.’

‘Oh, shush, Mr. Hudson. It is my business. What I am supposed to do if that new gentleman has a too delicate taste to like my concoction?’ 

‘Do not make a tasteless concoction then,’ the butler returned his attention to the newspaper before him. 

‘Mr. Halpert ate a macedoine of fruits with jelly and said he liked it,’ said Kevin and sipped his tea. He supplemented nothing to his previous narrative and thus concluded Pamela’s opportunity to discover more about Mr. Halpert’s character. 

She had an occasion, though, the very next day when Sir Michael and his household were preparing to go to the church. The church and the parsonage were just across the mansion's park; as Sir Michael lead his guest and his servants to the destination, Pamela almost immediately found Mr. Halpert walking by her side. 

‘I have to say I am grateful to you for your caution about Mr. Schrute. Without it, I doubt I would have made a polite conversation with him. Though, I had an impression he had had all the intentions to despise me.’ 

‘I am sorry to hear that. The loss of good opinion of Mr. Schrute is the loss forever,’ she said. ‘Perhaps, you might be comforted with the thought that Mr. Schrute might mention you and your virtues  in his sermon.’ 

‘Oh, that is too much honor for my humble person,’ Mr. Halpert smiled and added after a short pause. ‘You are quite familiar with Mr. Schrute’s temper, aren’t you?’

‘It is one of the few positive qualities of a small society. Your purposes of observations are limited. Hence you can explore them the best way.’

Shortly, they reached the church. Sir Michael, escorted by Mr. Halpert, took a seat on the front bench, a place reserved exclusively for the landlord, his relatives, and special guests. Pamela sat on one of the distant benches near the aisle, where her father, stepmother, sister, and cousin had already taken seats. She could see the back of Mr. Halpert’s head in a few rows down the aisle, though she tried not to watch him that much. The appearance of Sir Michael was a signal to Mr. Schrute to start the sermon. He planted himself behind his pulpit and opened the Bible. 

Mr. Schrute of a kind was a remarkably successful preacher. His sermons were accomplished, he read them with a passion of a true believer, and his deeds in the parish always were reasonable and forehanded. And yet, Pamela could not make herself listen to his preaching too long. She had noticed once that Mr. Schrute either comminated his parishioners for their shallow sins, using the excerptions from the New Testament or adulated Sir Michael in an unsubtle manner, referring to the aforementioned book. Firstly, Pamela had found joy in the attempt to unriddle who or what had bothered Mr. Schrute that week, though his cues always were direct, and she had palled with her little entertainment quickly. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Schrute read a piece from the Matthew, his voice loud and accusing, his gaze piercing the front row. 

‘His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.’

Pamela followed Mr. Schrute’s gaze. That expatiation was obviously meant for Sir Michael, thought her master probably did not notice the hidden message behind it. She was wondering what had happened during the dinner if the central theme of this sermon, for sure, was the good and the bad servants. 

Mr. Schrute shifted slightly and looked intently at Mr. Halpert. 

‘Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him which hath ten talents. For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath. And cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

For sure, Mr. Halpert was right, and Mr. Schrute saw a foe in his person. Pamela wondered how such an amiable man as Mr. Halpert was could cause such a strong abhorrence in Mr. Schrute. That demeanour fueled her curiosity.

As the clergyman draw his attention to another subject, Mr. Halpert unexpectedly turned his head to Pamela, the amusement, and the broad smile spread on his face. She returned her own small and polite smile and cast her eyes down. Pamela felt quite ashamed with the fact she had been caught staring at the gentleman during the Sunday worship.

After the service was over, the members of Dunder-Mifflin parish started to leave the church, expecting all the pleasures that could provide the Sunday afternoon. For Pamela, that meant almost the whole day she could spend with her family instead of Sir Michael’s company, though, for the first time, she briefly might have chosen the latter.

As before, Mr. Halpert found a place near her. Nothing in his demeanor displayed that the visible cues of the sermon affected him.

‘That was quite impressive,’ he began with a pleased smile.

‘I hope you are not disappointed with this dedication in your honor, Mr. Halpert?’ she asked. ‘Today, Mr. Schrute was especially eloquent.’

‘Heavens, not at all,’ he chuckled. ‘I have never been praised more in my life before. I should return the favour, shouldn’t I. It would be polite.’

‘It would,’ Pamela agreed. ‘Have you already pondered something particularly?’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps, it would be entertaining to persuade Mr. Schrute to include a specific theme or phase in his next sermon. Something harmful and yet expressive. I was thinking about the false prophets' theme. You know the local rules and viewpoints, how it would be perceived?’

‘Well, I could tell you, though I do not want to deprive you of pleasure to make your own observations,’ she said with a small smile.

‘So true,’ Mr. Halpert laughed and lowered his voice. ‘And yet, I would appreciate some hints. Could I count on you as my ally?’

Before Pamela could answer, they heard an exclamation ‘Pam!’ and watched the approaching of a young farmer.

‘Mr. Halpert,’ Pamela said ‘may I present you Mr. Anderson, my fiance. Mr. Anderson, this is Mr. Halpert, a guest of Sir Michael.’

The men exchanged short bows, and Mr. Anderson proposed her his hand.

‘I shall see you tomorrow, I guess. Have a good day,’ she said to Mr. Halpert, as she took her fiance’s hand and went with him.

Pamela admitted, she was both relieved and awkward with the appearance of Mr. Anderson. She did not know how to react to Mr. Halpert's amicability. She told herself that it was nothing but a natural wish of every person who stayed at an unknown place to know as much about a new location as possible. And yet, Pamela could neither agree to provide that information to Mr. Halpert nor refuse. Something about being an ally to a barely known gentleman, almost stranger, seemed inappropriate. She would like to find that the first impression of Mr. Halpert was accurate, and he was genuine in his deeds and intentions. But after such a short acquaintance, she could not allow herself to be imprudent.

The second thought was dwelling in her mind while she listened half-heartedly to Mr. Anderson’s plans for the renovation of his father’s farm, while they met her family, as they were carting to the Beesly’s farm, during the Sunday dinner. Pamela always thought she was fortunate herself. Unlike many other young women, she had nothing to complain about. Surely, she had her chagrins and misfortunes, but who did not have? Pamela was quite satisfied with the position in the society she occupied and had never pretended to become someone more. And yet, a meeting with an educated person, a gentleman, stroke her with a realisation that she was nothing but a servant. She might have had a glimpse of good taste and manners, though they did not change the fact that her life belonged to Dunder-Mifflin. She felt ashamed that Mr. Halpert had witnessed a rusticity of her surroundings, even though she had no intention to impress him or hide her true origination. But somehow, the idea that Mr. Halpert thought low of her was insufferable.

'So, Sir Michael has a guest,' said Mr. Beesly. 'A young gentleman at the sermon, who is he?

'Mr. Halpert,' Pamela answered. 'He is from Oxford, I guess. Sir Michael hired him to arrange his library.'

'I know fellows like he,' Mr. Anderson snorted. 'Fancy lads, who care more about clothes than a real business. I bet he is a rake.’

‘Mr. Anderson!’ Miss Martin exclaimed. ‘How could you say that about a gentleman? Even if,’ she added with a brief smile, ‘that is true.’ 

‘I always say what I think,’ Mr. Anderson said, and Pamela knew he was genuinely proud of it. ‘I think that Sir Michael made a mistake. Why does he need a library anyway? He has plenty of books already, and buying more is just a waste of money. If you ask me, I could spend them more reasonable. And this Mr. Halpert, for sure, tries to milk Sir Michael as much as he can.’ 

‘Well, well, I think Sir Michael has his reasons to do it. Does he not, Pammy?’ Mr. Beesly said. 

‘Yes, I guess,’ Pamela answered. She did not want to add more to the conversation, she did not want to participate. 

The dinner was over, and Mr. Anderson said goodbye, asking Pamela to meet him somewhere during the following week; she agreed, though his doings today had slightly upset her. He shook her hand and went home; Pamela waited before he went out of sight and returned to her father’s home. 

Miss Martin and Penelope cleaned up the table. Pamela joined them; she felt ashamed that she spent most of her days in the comfort of Dunder Hall while her relatives must spend all the time in the same old and cramped farm and tried to ease her guilt by helping her family on each occasion. 

The rest of the evening went in quiet and comfortable silence. Mr. Beesly and Miss Martin read, Mrs. Beesly mended clothes, the Misses Beesly made embroidery, whispering about fiddle-faddle. Pamela felt so peaceful and contented that she barely wanted to return to the Dunder Hall. 

She must do it, though. Before leaving, she gave her father two guineas - three-quarters of her monthly salary. 

‘You are a good girl, Pammy,’ Mr. Beesly said and kissed her forehead. ‘God bless your heart. I think we could cut our costs a little. That saves us a few dozen of pounds, and with them, you could marry Mr. Anderson the very next year. What do you say, dear?’