"Whom does love concern save the lover and the beloved? Yet its impact deluges a thousand shores."--E. M. FORSTER. Sir Mark Forsyth pushed back his chair, left the dinner-table, and strolled over to the bay-window. He drew out his cigarette-case, but apparently forgot to open it. He stood there, looking out across the garden, that merged into rocky spaces of heather and bracken, and culminated in an abrupt descent to Loch Etive. Low above the darkening hills the sunset splendour flamed along the horizon, and all the waters beneath were alight with the transient glory. But the man's face wore the abstracted air of one who dwells upon an inner vision. Though the subdued flow of talk behind hi…
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