"By all means, lieutenant," Iago said smoothly, smiling at Cassio ruefully. "You know best, I trust. Truly, I am sorry to have endangered the sanities of so many minds."
He knew, of course, that Cassio was still hinting toward Emilia. Surely there was no one else who cared so much about Iago as to be driven to insanity. Perhaps the general was concerned about him, as Othello knew all of his men by name and made their most important businesses his own, but any possible worry that he had was certainly professional and little more than that. Though Othello still called Iago his friend, it was clear to anyone with eyes that they were no longer friends. In fact, they had never been friends, Iago dared to argue. 'Friend' was a title oft given, oft received, and oft dissolved by disagreement and differing paths of life. There was no use in friendship, when the commitment involved was so shallow.
Cassio was taller and had a longer stride than either Iago or Roderigo, but with brisk paces it was no trouble for Iago to keep up. Roderigo, however, was quickly falling behind and had to burst into a run periodically.
It would do no good to treat Emilia coldly when they met once more. He had hurt her too much these past few days… Besides, Cassio was watching, and it was evident that Cassio intended to continue watching. The interest that Cassio took in Iago's wife was undeniably bothersome… Did he not already have his fill with women, having the favors of both the courtesan Bianca and the lady Desdemona?
But the real reason that Iago felt such misplaced emotions toward Emilia was because she refused to give up on him. No matter what he did to her, there she was, always coming back, always yearning to please. Iago considered himself a better person than many of the people he knew: he was not a libertine like Cassio, he was not a fool like Roderigo, he was a better judge of character than Othello. But as for Emilia… Iago was not blind. Every time that she came back to him made her that much more superior to him, and he knew it. Emilia could abandon his cause whenever she wanted to. But she would not. It was stupid, but it was the choice of an angel. He loved her for her devotion and hated her for being better than him.
"How does Emilia?" Iago asked the lieutenant, an edge of worry creeping into his tone. He was not sure if he had feigned it or not; it sounded surprisingly genuine. He thought of Emilia as he had last seen her, fingers clenched around the doorframe as she strained to see him in the dimly lit hallway; he imagined her huddled awake in bed, counting down the minutes until his arrival, rising early in eagerness to see if he had returned… All sentiment aside, he could not help but feel some measure of regret for causing her to lose sleep for his own sake these past few nights. He knew only too well what devils were wrought by the privation of repose.