“Why do you do this to me?” she cried. “Why do you make the things I have chosen seem hateful to me if you have nothing to give me instead?” The words roused Selden from the musing fit into which he had fallen. He himself did not know why he had led their talk along such lines; it was the last use he would have imagined himself making of an afternoon’s solitude with Miss Bart. But it was one of those moments when neither seemed to speak deliberately, when an indwelling voice in each called to the other across unsounded depths of feeling. “No, I have nothing to give you instead,” he said,
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