These gentlemen came to Portland Place at irregular intervals through the month of August, Vera resolutely refusing to leave London in that impossible month, and Lady Okehampton again sacrificing her annual cure to the care of her niece, as she had done in the year of Mario Provana's unhappy death. Lady Okehampton having made this sacrifice, almost the greatest which a woman of her age and position could make, naturally allowed herself some slight compensation in fussiness. She talked about her niece's health to boring point with her familiar friends, with the result of booking the name and address of some infallible specialist, hitherto unknown to her; and this accounted for the spasmodic appearance of a new consultant once or twice a week, in Vera's morning-room, all through that impossible month, in which the doctors themselves were panting for escape from London, to shoot grouse in Scotland, or do their own cures in Bohemia, after a season of hard dining. Vera was curiously submissive to these frequent ordeals. She answered any questions that the great man asked her; but she never volunteered information about herself, and she always made light of her ailments. The admission of a little worrying cough that was at its worst at night, a slight palpitation of the heart after going upstairs, was all that could be obtained from her by the most subtle questionings; but lungs and heart told their own story, without words. She smiled when the nerve specialist asked her if she slept well, and again when he suggested certain harmless opiates which would ensure beneficent slumber. She had taken them all. She had exhausted Susan Amphlett's pharmacopoeia, which contained all these specifics, and others not so harmless. When one physician after another--for on this they were all agreed--told her that she ought not to be in London in this sultry, depressing weather, while each advised his pet health resort, she smiled sweetly, and said she meant to remain in London till November, when she would go back to Rome. "I am fond of this house," she said, "and the London air suits me." "London air is very good air," answered Dr. Selwyn Tower, who understood her better than the various new lights, "but not in August and September. If you are to be in Rome in November, why not spend the interval in Italy, at Varese, for instance, a charming spot, with every advantage?" No. Vera was not to be persuaded. "I like the quiet of this home after the season. All I want is rest and silence," she said, and Dr. Selwyn Tower shot a despairing glance at Lady Okehampton. "Your niece is absolutely charming; but as obstinate as a mule," he told her, when they had their conference in one of the drawing-rooms. All the doors and _portières_ were open, and the doctor looked at the long vista of splendid emptiness with a faint shudder. "It is a fine house, but a little depressing," he murmured.