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 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."