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Updated: June 2, 2025
Don't you remember how the lines go 'Ships that pass in the night and speak each other in passing; Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness. Just remember that in a few years. You'll hail again perhaps. 'O Keggo! Or I it is more likely wilt hail 'O Rosalie! Just remember it then." Her hand came down to Rosalie and Rosalie took it.
"Why, it must be more than a year!" cried Rosalie, suddenly encountering Miss Keggs near the Marble Arch one evening and delightedly greeting her. It was in the summer and Rosalie had gone out from the boarding house after dinner for some fresh air in the park. She was enormously glad to see Keggo again and carried her greeting straight on into excuses for her share in their long sundering.
You reach the end. You're a woman, therefore for you the end!" She laughed again. She was returning Keggo's vehemence without embarrassment upon the subject that had made return difficult. She cried, "I've got you now, Keggo. I really have. You say they don't issue return tickets to women. No. Perhaps they don't; but I'll tell you where they book them all to from the cradle to a terminus."
Cheshire cats the kind that grinned out of vacuous minds and that never could speak to a woman without grinning; the unattached men at the boarding house invariably were of the Cheshire-cat cats. Tomcats the beastly ones with lecherous eyes that looked at you. "Of course they're beasts." It had been a large experience of the tomcat cats that had made her add that final summary of men to Keggo.
Don't you see how we are just drifting, drifting? Don't do anything where you'll just drift, Rosalie." "No, I'm not going to drift, Keggo," said Rosalie. I'm going to have a man's career. I'm going into business! Keggo, that's the mystery of that book I'm always reading that you're always asking me about: 'Lombard Street' Bagehot's 'Lombard Street. Oh, Keggo, thrilling."
Rosalie, I tell you this, when a woman gives herself, forgets moderation and gives herself to anything, she is its captive for ever. She may think she can come back, but she can't come back. For a woman there is no comeback. They don't issue return tickets to women. For women there is only departure; there is no return." Rosalie said, "Keggo, I think I could argue, but I won't.
She may think she can come back but she can't come back. For a woman there is no comeback. They don't issue return tickets to women. For women there is only departure; there is no return." Poor Keggo! Poor Keggo had of course founded her theory upon her own bitter plight. How she had given her case away when she had said, "Look at me!"
Rosalie desired to contest, as vehemently, these theories. She did not believe them a bit. They were founded, she felt, on the tragedy of Keggo's own case. Keggo was unfairly, though very naturally, arguing from the particular to the general, from the personal to the abstract. But how could she reply to Keggo, "Of course you say that?"
She had learnt, jostling off corners in the market place, what formerly she had only conjectured, that there was in life no room for sentiment, it clogged; it hampered; it brought sticky unreality into that which was sharply real. "Come back?" No, not Laetitia. Who? Keggo? Yes, it was Keggo; and immediately with the name's recovery was recovered the phrase's context. This very matter!
Keggo smiled and would have spoken. But Rosalie was pleased with her adroit turning of metaphors. She repeated "To a terminus. Well, I've booked beyond, Keggo." She laughed again. "And then the idea of marriage for me! I've granted the preposterous just for the sake of the argument and just to floor the argument.
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