(He puts on his hat with a flourish!)
LAURA. Where are you going, Father?
THOMAS. To Hell, child! Your Hell, my Heaven!
(He spreads his arms and rises up through the looking-glass; you see his violet frock-coaty his check trousers, his white spats, and patent-leather boots ascending into and passing from view. He twiddles his feet at them and vanishes.)
JULIA. And now I hope you are satisfied, Laura?
MARTHA. Where's Mamma gone?
JULIA. So you've driven her away, too. Well, that finishes it.
(Apparently it does. Robbed of her parental prey, Mrs. James reverts to the next dearest possession she is concerned about.)
LAURA. Martha, where is the silver tea-pot?
MARTHA. I don't know, Laura.