Benjulia puffed out another mouthful of smoke.

"Well," he repeated, "who rewards Pamela ?" "Her master, sir." "What does he do ?" The cook's eyes sank modestly to her lap.

The cook's complexion became brighter than ever.
"Her master marries her, sir." "Oh ?" That was all he said.

He was not astonished, or confused, or encouraged--he simply intimated that he now knew how Pamela's master had rewarded Pamela.

And, more dispiriting still, he took the opportunity of knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and filled it, and lit it again.
If the cook had been one of the few miserable wretches who never read novels, she might have felt her fondly founded hopes already sinking from under her.