Radio Mirror: The Magazine of Radio Romances (Jan-June 1943)

Let Me Have Romance Continued jrom page 15 teaching your school?" And the whole perfect fabric of my shining adventure would be ripped right across. For a moment he did not speak, just stood there with the wind ruffling his brown hair, his firm mouth moving a little at the corners in a wondering smile. Stefan looked from me to Bill and said, "Is it that you have already the acquaintance of Mr. Jamieson, Lisa?" "We've met," Bill said. That was all. His eyes did not leave my face, he still smiled that strange, studying smile. "We're old friends," I could say, now that I had my breath. "Then I may leave you the time to pass with Mr. Jamieson," Stefan said and bowed over my hand, his lips just barely touching it in that graceful way of his, and walked quickly down the path. "He surely can leave you the time to pass with Mr. Jah-mee-son," Bill said. "He gave out with the facts when he said it is that you have already the acquaintance of Mr. Jah-mee-son." OILL, you idiot," I protested, laugh-*-* ing. Relief made me feel warm toward him. Four years seemed to roll away from between us and leave us together on the steps of the library at State College. "That sounds like home," Bill said and he put his hands on my shoulders. "Thanks for being here to meet me." It bothered me to feel his hands on my shoulders, out here where everyone could see us. I felt confused. "Of course I didn't come to meet you," I told him stiffly. "I didn't know you were coming." I could have added that I didn't know anything about him, because he hadn't bothered to tell me for a long time. But if I had said it, I would have said it bitterly. And I didn't want to be bitter now. I had left bitterness behind in Big Boulder. I was here to find happiness and I had made my start at finding it. I wouldn't let anything interfere with that. So I smiled brightly at Bill Jamieson and moved from under his hands. He said, "Let's pretend you knew and came to meet me." And he smiled the coaxing smile I knew so well. I shook my head. "No, Bill. I don't think I'm very good at pretending, any more." He said, "Okay. But will you pass the time with me like the monkey said?" I felt quick hot irritation. "Please don't call Mr. Denenyi that," I said. "He's very nice, and I like him a lot." Bill's grin disappeared, leaving him looking different, sort of tired and not very young. For the first time I saw how the almost chubby solidness of his face had changed to the hard flat planes of maturity, and in the sunshine I could see what looked like short silver wires mingled with his hair. He said, "Okay again. Bet — I mean Lisa. By the way, I like the name. It suits you." He was sweet. He had always been like that, understanding and sympathetic, even with a small girl's aversion to the name of Bess and all its variations. I said, "Bill, I'm popping with questions to ask you. I'd love to pass that time asking them." He said, hesitantly, "Would you walk \\v\s &\um\ Seems to me there's been 1 a lot of fuss recently about \ women's hands. I read about this woman's red hands. Or that woman's rough hands. Or some other woman's ugly hands. And more often than not the cause of all the trouble turns out to be . . . soap! Somehow, that doesn't make sense. I do all my own housework and my own laundry. And I know I've never had any of these hand problems ... I think American women can llill^Jiis£=r have the best soap in the world. Maybe I'm just lucky. And sensible. I always use Fels-Naptha Soap. FELS-NAPTHA SOAP_banishesTattleTale Gray" 53