Her Comp. Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em till they're all over, you might as well stop outside, I should ha' thought.
The F.S. Oh, but I'll notice more next time—you've got to get used to these things, you know.
[They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent at the back. The Illusions—to judge from a sound of scurrying behind the scenes—have apparently been taken somewhat unawares.
The Female Sightseer (anxious to please). They've done that 'alf-moon very well, haven't they?
Voice of Showman (addressing the Illusions). Now then, 'urry up there—we're all waiting for you.
[The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon," appears, strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and regards the spectators with an impassive contempt—greatly to their confusion.
The Male S. (in a propitiatory tone). Not a bad-looking girl, is she? Atalanta, the Queen of the Moon (to the Oriental Beauty in next compartment). Polly, when these people are gone, I wish you'd fetch me my work!
[The Sightseers move on, feeling crushed. In the second compartment the upper portion of a female is discovered, calmly knitting in the centre of a small table, the legs of which are distinctly visible.
The Female S. Why, wherever has the rest of her got to?
The Oriental Beauty (with conscious superiority). That's what you've got to find out.