“Nothing, my lord; or if—I know not what,” said Iago, craftily pretending as if he wished to withdraw his words.
“Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?”
“Cassio, my lord!” with an air of great surprise. “No, sure, I cannot think it, that he would steal away so guilty-like, seeing you coming.”
“I do believe it was he,” persisted Othello.
“How now, my lord; I have been talking with a suitor here, a man that languishes in your displeasure,” said Desdemona, coming to meet her husband.
“Who is it you mean?”
“Why, your lieutenant, Cassio,” answered Desdemona; and then, with simple eloquence, she began to plead for the culprit. But Iago’s remark had ruffled Othello’s temper.
“Went he hence now?” he asked abruptly.
“Ay, truly; so humbled that he hath left part of his grief with me, to suffer with him. Good love, call him back.”
“Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.”