The way that Emilia described her marriage to Iago, it painted a picture of the two as partners, allies; a pair that could work well together, but were not explicitly in love. She claimed she was happy, and Desdemona did not doubt the woman even for a second, but to have that sort of relationship with one's husband, more businesslike than anything and absent of affection…? Truly, it sounded somewhat dismal, and Desdemona wondered that Emilia could truly be happy, when Iago, honest and good as he was, seemed rather stoic toward her. Desdemona knew Emilia well, and she knew that though Emilia spoke kind words of her husband, she sounded wistful... But Desdemona would not tell her so. It was certainly not her place to voice her opinions of others' marriages.
"I thank you for your benevolent wishes, Emilia," Desdemona smiled gratefully. "And it is kind of you to share with me your own experience... In faith, you are a noble woman-but there was never any doubt in my mind beforehand." She continued to run her fingers gently over her handkerchief, delicately fingering the laced edges and stroking the embroidered patches of rosy strawberries with as much love as she might caress the one who gave her the gift.
Emilia's own handkerchief was, at present, clean, white, and free of dirt and stain. But still, it was not edged in fine lace or speckled with strawberries as Desdemona's was.