LAURA.  Haven’t you any affection for your old home?

THOMAS.  None.  It was a prison.  You were the gaolers and the turnkeys.  To keep my feet in the domestic way you made me wool-work slippers, and I had to wear them.  You gave me neckties, which I wouldn’t wear.  You gave me affection of a demanding kind, which I didn’t want.  You gave me a moral atmosphere which I detested.  And at last I could bear it no more, and I escaped.

LAURA (deaf to instruction).  Papa, we wish you and our dear Mother to come back and live with us.

THOMAS.  Live with my grandmother!  How could I live with any of you?

LAURA.  Where are you living?

THOMAS.  Ask no questions, and you will be told no lies.

LAURA.  Where is she?

THOMAS.  Which she?

LAURA.  The governess.

THOMAS.  Which governess?

LAURA.  The one you went away with.

THOMAS.  D’you want her back again?  You can have her.  She’ll teach you a thing or two.  She did me.

LAURA.  Then—­you have repented, Papa?

THOMAS.  God! why did I come here?

MRS. R. Yes; why did you come?  It was weak of you.

THOMAS.  Because I never could resist women.

LAURA.  Were you really mad when you died, Papa?

THOMAS.  Yes, and am still:  stark, staring, raving, mad, like all the rest of you.

LAURA.  I am not aware that I am mad.

THOMAS.  Then you are a bad case.  Not to know it, is the worst sign of all.  It’s in the family:  you can’t help being.  Everything you say and do proves it....  You were mad to come here.  You are mad to remain here.  You were mad to want to see me.  I was mad to let you see me.  I was mad at the mere sight of you; and I’m mad to be off again!  Goodbye, Susan.  If you send for me again, I shan’t come!

(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.

LAURA.  You said Julia had it.

MARTHA.  I didn’t say anything of the sort!  You said—­you supposed Julia had it; and I said—­suppose she had!  And I left it at that.

LAURA.  Julia says she hasn’t got it, so you must have it.