Of all the hosts of people he knew,--people who had entertained him and whom he had entertained,--not one had thought to invite him to the Christmas dinner.
A dozen families at whose houses he had often been entertained flashed across his mind.

Why, years ago he used to have a half-dozen invitations to Christmas 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.