counting

"Do not concern yourself, veteran, about what I feel when people talk about me. You cannot begin to imagine my indifference."
"Then—"
"But I do care what people say about you!"
"Me?" Belisarius laughed. "What will they say about me that they don't already?"
"Idiot," she hissed. "Now they say you married a whore. So they mock your judgment, and your good taste. But they see the whore does not stray from your side, so they—secretly—admire your manhood." Incongruously, she giggled, then mimicked a whispering voice: " 'He must be hung like a horse, to keep that slut satisfied.' " The humor vanished. "But now they will call you a cuckold. They will mock you, as well as your judgment. You will become a figure of ridicule. Ridicule, do you hear me?"
Belisarius laughed again. Gaily, to her astonishment.
"I know," he said. "I'm counting on it." He arose and stretched his arms. "Oh, yes, love, I'm counting on it." He mimicked the whispering voice himself: " 'What kind of a man would let his wife flaunt her lovers in front of him? Only the most pathetic, feeble, weak, cowardly creature.'