DIANA: So then, Teodoro, you've a mind to marry?

TEODORO: No mind for anything unless you wish it; and you should understand that my offence is not so gross as others may have told you. You know that Envy has a scorpion's tongue, and Ovid, if he'd ever been a servant would hardly have described its dismal dwelling as if it lived in lonely vales or mountains; it lives and reigns among us servants here.

DIANA: It isn't true, then, that you love Marcela?

TEODORO: I could survive without her.

DIANA: But they tell me you've lost your wits about her?

TEODORO: Wits like mine are no great loss; and yet you must believe me, your ladyship, that even though Marcela may merit such devotion, I've not shown it.

DIANA: You mean you haven't murmured such endearments as might beguile a somewhat