Puck's returning smile, on the other hand, reveals only intense amusement.

Though that too has a kind of sharpness to it.

"Oh, any number of things, I suppose," he replies cheerfully, sticking his hands into his pockets and beginning to pace-- not so much towards her as in a lazy loop of something that doesn't quite want to be a circle.

"The weather, which I presume is charming. Who your tailor may be to commission such a particularly fetching blouse."

He finds the spiders on her sweater sort of tacky.

"Was it that Igor fellow?"