by S. I. Kishor
Six minutes to six. The tall young Army Lieutenant lifted his face, and noted the exact time. His heart was pounding because he could not control it. In six minutes, he would see the woman who had filled a special place in his life for the past 13 months. He had never seen her, yet her written words had been with him and supported him.
Six minutes to six. The tall young Army Lieutenant lifted his face, and noted the exact time. His heart was pounding because he could not control it. In six minutes, he would see the woman who had filled a special place in his life for the past 13 months. He had never seen her, yet her written words had been with him and supported him.
Four minutes to six. People were walking fast. A girl passed close to him, and he stared. She was wearing a red flower on her suit, but it was not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was too young, about 18, whereas Hollis Meynell had frankly told him she was 30. He was 29.
His mind went back to that book ---- the book God Himself must have put into his hands out of the hundreds of Amy library books, sent to the Florida training camp. Of Human Bondage, it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman's writing. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man's heart so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the bookplate: Hollis Meynell. He looked in a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written; she had answered. The next day he had been sent overseas, but they had gone on writing.
For 13 months, she had faithfully replied. Even when his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him.
But she had refused to send him her photograph. She had explained: "If your feeling for me has any honest basis, what I look like won't matter. Suppose I'm beautiful. I'd always wonder if you were interested only in my beauty, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I'm plain. Then I'd always fear that you were going on writing to me only because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don't ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you will see me and then you can make your decision. Remember, both of us are free to stop or to go on after that."
One minute to six.
Then Lieutenant Blandford's heart jumped higher than his plane had ever flown.
A young woman was coming toward him. Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears. Her eyes were blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale green suit, she was like springtime.
He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her graying hair under a worn hat. She was short and fat. But she wore a red rose on her brown coat.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.
Blandford felt as though he were being split in two. He wanted to follow the girl, yet longed for the woman whose spirit had been his companion and support. There she stood. Her pale, fat face was gentle and sensible. Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly twinkle.
Lieutenant Blandford did not hesitate. His fingers gripped the small, worn, blue leather copy of Of Human Bondage, which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even more rare than love ---- a friendship for which he would always be grateful.
He saluted and held the book out toward the woman.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blandford, and you, Miss Meynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. May ... may I take you to dinner?"
The woman smiled. "I don't know what this is all about," she answered, "but that young lady in the green suit ---- the one who just went by ---- begged me to wear this rose on my coat. She said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she's waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was a test."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
John Blandford
Hollis Meynell
New York City
anyway
appointment
blond
bondage
bookplate
chin
delicate
disgust
entirely
faithfully
firmness
frankly
grateful
grip
kindly
leather
lieutenant
overseas
rare
salute
sensible
slim
split
springtime
tenderly
twinkle
understandingly
whereas
in two
see into