‘Willie loupit o’er a linn’, Lady Coupar WHEN GENTLY WOKE in the morning a grey twilight was pervading his room and a low susurrous buzzing sounded continuously in his ears. He stirred uneasily. Could the Bonnie Strathtudlem’s whisky really be so potent? But no, he’d only had time for a single tot, and apart from the buzzing his head felt clear enough. What, then . . . ? The hissing wheels of a passing vehicle explained the matter. It was raining out there – Highland rain, which sends down three drops for one of any other sort. He rolled out of bed and padded to the window. Yes, it was whirring down like a new Flood. The braes were sheeted in smoky wrack and the Hill of the Fairies was lost to view. Just outside the window the gleaming Hawk had spray dancing frolics on its roof, and each fresh car that swished by travelled in a screen-high swathe of water. Highland rain! Why was it inspiriting, when London rain only depressed? He found Geoffrey in a dressing-gown in the kitchen, drinking tea with Mrs McFie.
