"Why, how should it?"
Cuckoo drank her tea hastily and put the cup down.
"How should it?" Julian repeated, as if with a heavy challenge.
"It might in many ways, to his health—"
"He's stronger than ever he was."
"Or to his mind, his nature. You see no change there that might have frightened Rip?"
"Not I. He's more of a man, good old Val, even than he was."
"Ah! You acknowledge there is a change."
"Give me some more tea, Cuckoo," Julian said, thrusting his cup towards her. "Make it strong. It's picking me up." He sat forward in his chair and began to light a cigar, keeping his eyes on the doctor.
"Well, if you call that a change; to get like other men. Old Val was a saint. I loved him then, but I love him ten times more now he's—a—the other thing, you know. Ten times more. He knows the world now, and his advice is worth having. I'd follow him anywhere. He can't go wrong. Takes care of himself, and of me too. I might have been anything—anything, but for him. Instead of what I am—"