TEST AND TASTE OF LOVE ?

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 p.m. 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 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."

DO NOT FANTASISE ON LOVE MATTERS- LEST YOU ARE NOT TO PUT TO ACID TEST. INSTEAD LOVE YOUR REAL PARTNER AND ENJOY THE TAST OF SWEETNESS.

JK