There was no further use in argument. Mr. Delancy would have his
way; and he was right.

Irene and her husband went back to the city, with a promise to spend
Christmas at the old homestead.

Two weeks passed. It was the twentieth of December. Without previous
intimation, Irene came up alone to Ivy Cliff, startling her father
by coming in suddenly upon him one dreary afternoon, just as the
leaden sky began to scatter down the winter's first offering of
snow.

"My daughter!" he exclaimed, so surprised that he could not move
from where he was sitting.

"Dear father!" she answered with a loving smile, throwing her arms
around his neck and kissing him.

"Where is Hartley?" asked the old man, looking past Irene toward the
door through which she had just entered.

"Oh, I left him in New York," she replied.

"In New York! Have you come alone?"

"Yes. Christmas is only five days off, you know, and I am here to
help you prepare for it. Of course, Hartley cannot leave his
business."