The prolonged stay of Forrest in England was ostensibly to continue for another season the brilliant professional life there opened to him. But, in reality, a tenderer attraction constituted his principal motive. He had met in the fashionable circles of the art life of London a young lady of extreme beauty and of accomplished manners, thoroughly imbued with musical and dramatic tastes, who had quite won his heart. This was Catherine Norton Sinclair, daughter of a very distinguished English vocalist. Miss Sinclair, with much force of character and grace and vivacity of demeanor, had a personal loveliness which gave her distinction wherever she appeared, and an ingenuous sympathetic expression which made her a general favorite. She was the first and only woman whom Forrest, with all his earnest but not absorbing amours, had ever seriously thought of marrying. Her image, fixed in his bewitched imagination wherever he went, made him impatient to be with her again in fact. This was the magnet that drew him, after every departure, so quickly back to London. The maiden, on the other hand, was as much enamored as the man. More than thirty-six years afterwards, when he was lying cold in his coffin, and so much of joy and hope and pain and tragic grief lay buried between their separated souls, she said, "The first time I saw him--I recall it now as clearly as though it were but yesterday--the impression he made was so instantaneous and so strong, that I remember I whispered to myself, while a thrill ran through me, 'This is the handsomest man on whom my eyes have ever fallen.'" On meeting they were mutually smitten, and the passion grew, and no obstacles intervened, and they were betrothed. The intervals between his starring engagements in the chief cities of the United Kingdom he spent in courtship. It was a period of divine intoxication, which they alone who have had a kindred experience can understand, when life was all a current of bliss in a world sparkling with enchantment. A favorite poet has said,-- "Oh, time is sweet when roses meet, With June's soft breath around them; And sweet the cost when hearts are lost, If those we love have found them;"