Imogen had already had cause that morning for grave distress, for she had discovered the loss of her bracelet, and was greatly upset about it. Leaving her clownish wooer to brood sullenly over this unusual plain-speaking (for all the gentlemen at Court flattered and fawned on Cloten to his face, though they roundly abused him behind his back), Imogen now called her faithful Pisanio, and bade him tell her waiting-woman to make the most careful search for the missing jewel.
“It was thy master’s; I would not lose it for a revenue of any King’s in Europe. I think I saw it this morning; I am confident last night it was on my arm; I kissed it. I hope it be not gone to tell my lord that I kiss aught but him,” she ended, with a melancholy attempt at a little jest.
Alas, poor Imogen, if she had only known how fatally near the truth came her lightly-spoken words!
At that same moment Iachimo was speeding back to Rome with his unwelcome tidings. At first Leonatus took for granted that Iachimo must have lost his wager; he had an answer ready for everything that the latter could say; but little by little the wily Italian contrived to make it appear that Imogen had been far too generous in the favours and friendliness she had lavished on this stranger. He had seen her chamber, he said, and forthwith he described all the tapestry of silk and silver with which it was hung. The chimney was south of the room, and the story of the huntress Diana was wonderfully carved as the subject of the chimney-piece. The roof of the chamber was fretted with golden cherubs; the andirons on the hearth were two winking Cupids of silver, each standing on one foot.
Leonatus was forced to admit that all this was true; but still, he said, it did not prove that Iachimo had won his wager.
Then, with a self-assured air of triumph, Iachimo produced the bracelet, which he declared Imogen had taken from her arm to give him.
Leonatus, with one last effort to preserve his belief in Imogen’s love and fidelity, suggested that perhaps she had taken off the bracelet to send it to him.
“She writes so to you, doth she?” asked Iachimo cunningly. But alas, Imogen’s letter, which he had himself conveyed, made no mention of such a fact.
“O, no, no, no! It’s true. Here, take this too!” cried Leonatus, handing Iachimo the ring which he had wagered. And he broke out into a torrent of despairing scorn for the utter falsehood and inconstancy of all women.
“Have patience, sir, and take your ring again,” counselled Philario, who all through this interview had keenly distrusted the plausible Iachimo. “It is not yet won. Probably Imogen lost the bracelet; or who knows if one of her women, being bribed, has not stolen it from her?”