Davus. I, Sir?
Simo. I thought so: and in fear of that
Conceal’d a secret which I’ll now disclose.
Davus. What secret, Sir?
Simo. I’ll tell you: for I now
Almost begin to think you may be trusted.
Davus. You’ve found what sort of man I am at last.
Simo. No marriage was intended.
Davus. How! none!
Simo. None.