Jean. I forget. Were they Guelf or Ghibelline?
Miss L. (smiling). They weren't either, and that was why Dante couldn't stand them. (More gravely.) He said there was no place in Heaven nor in Purgatory—not even a corner in Hell—for the souls who had stood aloof from strife. (Looking steadily into the girl's eyes.) He called them "wretches who never lived," Dante did, because they'd never felt the pangs of partizanship. And so they wander homeless on the skirts of limbo among the abortions and off-scourings of Creation.
Jean (a long breath after a long look. When Miss Levering has turned away to make her leisurely adieux Jean's eyes fall on the open telegram). Aunt Ellen, I've got to go to London.
(Stonor, re-entering, hears this, but pretends to talk to Mr. Freddy, &c.)
Lady John. My dear child!
Mrs. H. Nonsense! Is your grandfather worse?
Jean (folding the telegram). No-o. I don't think so. But it's necessary I should go, all the same.
Mrs. H. Go away when Mr. Stonor——
Jean. He said he'd have to leave directly after luncheon.