“Don’t,” she said. “You make me sick.” “Funny that Gerard never told you of it, for a clearer case of saving life at the obvious sacrifice of one’s own, I have never heard of.” Irene’s hand trembled a little as she poured out the tea. Mrs. Harroway, unobserved, shook her head reproachfully at her husband, who, interpreting her action rightly, plunged into irrelevant observations. But at that moment Gerard entered the room. Irene turned to him at once impulsively. “Oh, Gerard, Mr. Harroway has been telling me a horrible story of Hugh saving your life in Switzerland. Is it true?” A shade of annoyance passed over his face. “Yes,” he replied. “I remember his doing something of the kind.” “Oh, do let us talk of something cheerful,” said Mrs. Harroway; and she led the conversation to ordinary topics until the end of the visit. When the Harroways had gone, Irene sat on the arm of Gerard’s chair. “Why did you never tell me?” He grew red, fidgeted awhile with his hands. At last, looking up, and seeing her luminous eyes fixed upon him, he said, gravely: “There are certain things that a man keeps in his own heart.” The solemnity of the saying somewhat awed her. “And Hugh never spoke either.” “Of course not,” said Gerard. “What an unpayable debt we owe him.” “We’ll pay it all right when the time comes.” “What little things women are when compared with men,” said Irene. “We could never have kept a fact like that locked up in our souls.” Gerard accepted the tribute with his usual reserve. As his wife knew, he was not a man to waste words over sentiment. She uttered what she felt were his thoughts. “I didn’t understand your not telling me. But now I do. Those things, when unspoken of, knit two men more firmly together.” She was silent for a moment; then changing her tone and grasping Gerard’s arm: “We won’t speak of it again, either,” she said. “It is horrible to think of. And what should I have done without you?” The servant entering to remove the tea things was a signal for Irene to dress for dinner. She left the room, and then Gerard rose, and, walking to the window, took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.