far away and everyone talks about them now

“And Rufus.” She looked at him very searchingly; without quite knowing why, he felt he had been discovered in a discreditable secret. “Don’t be sorry you’re not an orphan. You be thankful. Orphans sound lucky to you because they’re far away and everyone talks about them now. But they’re very, very unhappy little children. Because nobody loves them. Do you understand?” He nodded, ashamed of himself and secretly disappointed. “Now run along,” she said. They left the room. Aunt Hannah met them on the stairs. “Go into the liv—sitting room for a while like good children,” she said. “I’ll be right down.” And as they reached the bottom of the stairs they heard their mother’s door open and close. They sat, looking at their father’s chair, thinking. Catherine felt more virtuous and less troubled than she had for some time, for she had watched Rufus being scolded, all to himself, and it more than wiped out her unhappiness at his telling her to come along when of course she was coming and he had no right even if she wasn’t. But she couldn’t see how anyone could look as if they were asleep and not wake up, and something else her mother had said—she tried hard to remember what it was—troubled her more deeply than that. And what was a norphan? Rufus felt that his mother was seriously displeased with him. It was the wrong time to ask her. Maybe he ought not to have asked her at all. But he did want to know. He had not been sure whether or not he was an orphan, or the right kind of orphans. If he claimed he was an orphan in school and it turned out that he was not, people would all laugh at him. But if he really was an orphan he wanted to know, so he would be able to say he was, and get the benefit. What was the good of being an orphan if nobody else knew it? Well, so he was not an orphan. Yet his father was dead. Not his mother, too, though. Only his father. But one was dead. One and one makes two. One-half of two equals one. He was half an orphan, no matter what his mother said.