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."

约翰·布兰查德从长凳上站起身来，整了整军装，留意着格兰德中央车站进出的人群。

他在寻找一位姑娘，一位佩带玫瑰的姑娘。他知其心，但不知其貌。十二个月前，在佛罗里达州的一个图书馆，他对她产生了兴趣。他从书架上取下一本书，很快便被吸引住了，不是被书的内容，而是被铅笔写的眉批。柔和的笔迹显示出其人多思善虑的心灵和富有洞察力的头脑。

在书的前页，他找到了前一位拥有人的姓名，霍利斯·梅奈尔小姐。他花了一番工夫和努力，找到了她的地址。她住在纽约市。他给她写了一封信介绍自己，并请她回复。第二天他被运往海外，参加第二次世界大战。

在接下来的一年当中，两人通过信件来往增进了了解。每一封信都如一颗种子撒入肥沃的心灵之土。浪漫的爱情之花就要绽开。布兰查德提出要一张照片，可她拒绝了。她解释道：“如果你对我的感情是真实的，是诚心诚意的，那我的相貌如何并不重要。设想我美丽动人。我将会一直深感不安，惟恐你只是因为我的容貌就贸然与我相爱，而这种爱情令我憎恶。设想本人相貌平平（你得承认，这种可能性更大）。那我一直会担心，你和我保持通信仅仅是出于孤独寂寞，无人交谈。不，别索要照片。等你到了纽约，你会见到我，到时你可再作定夺。且记，见面后我俩都可以自由决定中止关系或继续交往 —— 无论你怎么选择......”

他从欧洲回国的日子终于到了。他们安排了两人的第一次见面 —— 晚上七点， 纽约格兰德中央车站。

“你会认出我的，” 她写道，“我会在衣襟上戴一朵红玫瑰。” 于是，晚上七点，他候在车站，寻找一位过去一年里在自己生活中占据了如此特殊地位的姑娘，一位素未谋面，但其文字伴随着他、始终支撑着他精神的姑娘。

且让布兰查德先生告诉你接下来发生的事吧：
一位年轻的姑娘向我走来，她身材颀长纤细。一头卷曲的金发披在秀美的耳后；眼睛碧蓝，如花似玉。她的双唇和下颌线条柔和，却又柔中见刚，她身穿浅绿色套装，犹如春天一般生气盎然。

我朝她走去，完全忘了去看她有没有戴玫瑰花。

我走过去时，她双唇绽开撩人的微笑。“和我同路吗，水兵？”她小声问道。我情不自禁，再向她走近一步。可就在这时，我看到了霍利斯·梅奈尔。她差不多就站在姑娘的正后面，早已年过四十，灰白的头发用卡子向上别着，头上带着一顶旧帽子。

她体态臃肿，粗圆的脚踝上套着一双低跟鞋。

穿着绿色套装的姑娘快步走开了。我觉得自己好像被分成了两半，一方面热切地想去追赶她，但另一方面我又渴望那一位以其心灵真诚陪伴我并成为我的精神支柱的女人。

她站在那儿，苍白的圆脸显得温柔理智，灰色的眼睛透出热情善良。我没有迟疑。

我手里紧握着那本小小的让她辨认我的蓝色羊皮面旧书。这不会是爱情，但将是某种珍贵的、或许比爱情更美妙的东西，一种我曾经感激，并将永远感激的友情。

我挺胸站立，敬了个礼，并举起手中的书好让那位女士看。不过在我开口说话的时候，失望的痛苦几乎使我哽咽。“我是约翰·布兰查德中尉，想必您就是梅奈尔小姐。很高兴您来见我。可否请您赏光吃饭？”

妇女的脸上绽开了笑容。“我不知道是怎么回事，孩子，”她回答说，“可是刚才走过去的那位穿绿色套装的姑娘，她央求我把这支玫瑰插在衣服上。她还说，要是你请我吃饭的话，我就告诉你，她就在街对面那个大饭店里等你。她说这是一种考验！”

梅奈尔小姐的智慧不难理解，也令人称奇。心灵的本质是从其对不美的事物的态度中反映出来的。

“告诉我你所爱者是谁，”何赛写道，“我就知道你是什么样的人。”

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