"Daisy!" exclaimed Mrs. Randolph.
Her husband made an inarticulate sort of a noise, as he turned away and took up his neglected shaving soap.
"What is this?" said the lady in astonishment.
"What you see—" said Mr. Randolph.
"Where did it come from?"
"The signature tells you."
"But where did you get it?"
"Here—this moment."
"The impertinent little minx!"
"Hush. She does not mean to be impertinent, Felicia."