"'But when Fate
Was at thy making, and endowed thy soul
With many gifts and costly, she forgot
To mix with those a genius for repose;
And therefore a sting is ever in thy blood,
And in thy marrow a sublime unrest.'"
"It was not so when I was young," said grandmother. "How can we lay the shortcoming at the door of Fate?"
"Chinese women would never attend a bull and tiger fight, grandmother," I whispered into her ear when the professor was looking the other way, "nor Chinese gentlemen."
"I hope not, my dear," is all the reply dear grandmother made.