John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She now lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate.
My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
約翰·布蘭查德從長凳上站起身來，整了整軍裝，留意著格蘭德中央車站進出的人群。
他在尋找一位姑娘，一位佩帶玫瑰的姑娘。他知其心，但不知其貌。十二個月前，在佛羅里達州的一個圖書館，他對她產生了興趣。他從書架上取下一本書，很快便被吸引住了，不是被書的內容，而是被鉛筆寫的眉批。柔和的筆跡顯示出其人多思善慮的心靈和富有洞察力的頭腦。
在書的前頁，他找到了前一位擁有人的姓名，霍利斯·梅奈爾小姐。他花了一番工夫和努力，找到了她的地址。她住在紐約市。他給她寫了一封信介紹自己，并請她回復。第二天他被運往海外，參加第二次世界大戰。
在接下來的一年當中，兩人通過信件來往增進了了解。每一封信都如一顆種子撒入肥沃的心靈之土。浪漫的愛情之花就要綻開。布蘭查德提出要一張照片，可她拒絕了。她解釋道：“如果你對我的感情是真實的，是誠心誠意的，那我的相貌如何并不重要。設想我美麗動人。我將會一直深感不安，惟恐你只是因為我的容貌就貿然與我相愛，而這種愛情令我憎惡。設想本人相貌平平（你得承認，這種可能性更大）。那我一直會擔心，你和我保持通信僅僅是出于孤獨寂寞，無人交談。不，別索要照片。等你到了紐約，你會見到我，到時你可再作定奪。且記，見面后我倆都可以自由決定中止關系或繼續交往 —— 無論你怎么選擇......”
他從歐洲回國的日子終于到了。他們安排了兩人的第一次見面 —— 晚上七點， 紐約格蘭德中央車站。
“你會認出我的，” 她寫道，“我會在衣襟上戴一朵紅玫瑰。” 于是，晚上七點，他候在車站，尋找一位過去一年里在自己生活中占據了如此特殊地位的姑娘，一位素未謀面，但其文字伴隨著他、始終支撐著他精神的姑娘。
且讓布蘭查德先生告訴你接下來發生的事吧：
一位年輕的姑娘向我走來，她身材頎長纖細。一頭卷曲的金發披在秀美的耳后；眼睛碧藍，如花似玉。她的雙唇和下頜線條柔和，卻又柔中見剛，她身穿淺綠色套裝，猶如春天一般生氣盎然。
我朝她走去，完全忘了去看她有沒有戴玫瑰花。
我走過去時，她雙唇綻開撩人的微笑。“和我同路嗎，水兵？”她小聲問道。我情不自禁，再向她走近一步。可就在這時，我看到了霍利斯·梅奈爾。她差不多就站在姑娘的正后面，早已年過四十，灰白的頭發用卡子向上別著，頭上帶著一頂舊帽子。
她體態臃腫，粗圓的腳踝上套著一雙低跟鞋。
穿著綠色套裝的姑娘快步走開了。我覺得自己好像被分成了兩半，一方面熱切地想去追趕她，但另一方面我又渴望那一位以其心靈真誠陪伴我并成為我的精神支柱的女人。
她站在那兒，蒼白的圓臉顯得溫柔理智，灰色的眼睛透出熱情善良。我沒有遲疑。
我手里緊握著那本小小的讓她辨認我的藍色羊皮面舊書。這不會是愛情，但將是某種珍貴的、或許比愛情更美妙的東西，一種我曾經感激，并將永遠感激的友情。
我挺胸站立，敬了個禮，并舉起手中的書好讓那位女士看。不過在我開口說話的時候，失望的痛苦幾乎使我哽咽。“我是約翰·布蘭查德中尉，想必您就是梅奈爾小姐。很高興您來見我。可否請您賞光吃飯？”
婦女的臉上綻開了笑容。“我不知道是怎么回事，孩子，”她回答說，“可是剛才走過去的那位穿綠色套裝的姑娘，她央求我把這支玫瑰插在衣服上。她還說，要是你請我吃飯的話，我就告訴你，她就在街對面那個大飯店里等你。她說這是一種考驗！”
梅奈爾小姐的智慧不難理解，也令人稱奇。心靈的本質是從其對不美的事物的態度中反映出來的。
“告訴我你所愛者是誰，”何賽寫道，“我就知道你是什么樣的人。”
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