That is one of my few compensations." "Compensations for what ?" The question escaped her almost before she was aware, and she waited for the snub which she felt would inevitably follow her second indiscretion that afternoon.
But it did not come.

Instead, he fenced adroitly.
"Compensation for the limitations of a hermit's life," he said lightly.
"The life is your own choice," she flashed back at him.
"Oh, no, we're not always given a choice, you know.

This world isn't a kind of sublimated children's party." She regarded him thoughtfully.
"I think," she said gravely, "we always get back out of life just what we put into it." His mouth twisted ironically.
"That's a charming doctrine, but I'm afraid I can't subscribe to it.

I put in--all my capital.

And I've drawn a blank." His tone implied a kind of strange, numb acceptance of an inimical destiny, and Sara was conscious of a rush of intense pity towards this man whose implacably cynical outlook manifested itself in almost every word he uttered.