"Too penitent," Othello said jokingly, putting aside his offense; it would not do to remain angry at a brother, no matter what slights he made. "Truly, your insult was not so great. Hurtful though the jest was, it pained me on behalf of my wife...and indeed, it was but jest."
"Perhaps," Cassio remarked dryly, speaking for the first time. "I myself cannot much tell when you are jesting, Iago, and when you speak in earnest."
"Well," Othello said mildly, "I have found it to be like this. My ancient here, like all other honest men, smiles when he speaks in jest, and frowns in earnest. You who are so skilled in manners and social matters would surely find that to be expected.
"Besides, Iago," he added, raising thick black brows at the ensign as he directed his words to him. "I would not have you apologize for your baseness, as you say, since I have come to expect such bawdy quips from you as an integral part of your character."
Iago, though, did not reply to the good-natured jibe; instead, he seemed frozen in place, staring transfixed at some point in the distance as the jovial grin slipped from his thin lips. It was as though he was plagued by some sudden, poisonous thought that held him spellbound in its horror...
"A night's repose lost has left you half bereft of your wits, indeed," Cassio muttered, just too quietly for Othello to hear. Then louder, he added, "Iago! My God, what ails you, man? Surely the general's jest did not merit such shock!"