"O, Roderigo," Desdemona sighed, with pity in her voice. "I never knew the man, though I did often hear my father complain of him. He was but one in a rather great many suitors who did ask for my hand, but did not have my heart in the matter..." Her fair cheeks dimpled with an uncertain smile. "Faith...I do think Roderigo was the one who endeavored to stand below my window and serenade me. Poor soul... It dislikes me that I had no choice but to break his heart thus."
Desdemona withdrew the handkerchief from her skirts and looked at it fondly as Emilia mentioned the token. "Once more, you think me a child, dear Emilia," she said mildly. "Think you I will dirty what is such potent remembrance of the wonderful man whom I do love? Even the very feel of it brings the visage of my lord to mind. 'Tis very much a pity that lovers cannot remain side by side through the entire day, but with this blessed handkerchief? Ay, with this I have an approximation." Her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow as she gazed at it. What warmth did fill her heart at this moment, coursing through her veins with an earnest tenderness...!
"Surely, you have been in love before, Emilia?" Desdemona asked suddenly, turning to look at her, and then finding the heedless question indelicate, for it insinuated with furtive cruelty that the woman did not love her husband. "Forgive me," she mended hurriedly. "I know you are married-you must pardon me, patient Emilia-I asked the question without thought. 'Twas not my place."
