hristmas dinner, and now he had not one! Even Mrs. Wright, to whom
he had just sent a contribution for--Hello! that lantern-slide again! It
would not do to think of figures.--Even she had not thought of him.

There must be some reason? he pondered. Yes, Christmas dinners were
always family reunions--that was the reason he was left out and
forgotten;--yes, forgotten. A list of the people who he knew would have
such reunions came to him; almost every one of his acquaintances had a
family;--even Clark had a family and would have a Christmas dinner.

At the thought, a pang almost of envy of Clark smote him.

Suddenly his own house seemed to grow vast and empty and lonely; he felt
perfectly desolate,--abandoned--alone--ill! He glanced around at his
pictures. They were cold, staring, stony, dead! The reflection of the
cross lights made them look ghastly.

As he gazed at them the figures they had cost shot before his eyes. My
God! he could not stand this! He sprang to his feet. Even the pain of
getting up was a relief. He stared around him. Dead silence and stony
faces were all about him. The capacious room seemed a vast, empty
cavern, and as he stood he saw stretching before him his whole future
life spent in this house, as lonely, silent, and desolate as this. It
was unbearable.

He walked through to his drawing-room. The furniture was sheeted, the
room colder and lonelier a thousand-fold than the other;--on into the
dining-room;--the bare table in the dim light looked like ice; the
sideboard with its silver and glass, bore sheets of ice. "Pshaw!" He
turned up the lights. He would take a drink of brandy and go to bed.

He took a decanter, poured out a drink and drained it off. His hand
trembled, but the stimulant helped him a little. It enabled him to
collect his ideas and think. But his thoughts still ran on Christmas and
his loneliness.

Why should not he give a Christmas dinner and invite his friends? Yes,
that was what he would do. Whom should he ask? His mind began to run
over the list. Every one he knew had his own house; and as to
friends--why, he didn't have any friends! He had only acquaintances. He
stopped suddenly, appalled by the fact. He had not a friend in the
world! Why was it? In answer to the thought the seven figures flashed
into sight. He put his hand to his eyes to shut them out. He knew now
why. He had been too busy to make friends. He had given his youth and
his middle manhood to accumulate--thos