She pauses just short of picking up a sprig herself, looking up in time to see the cool, assessing look cross his face. A look like he'd caught her out--which he has, her thoughts interject, you really ought to be wearing gloves, he's right.

Smoothly, she reaches into her jacket pocket, smoothly taking out her handkerchief, almost like she'd planned it. "I'm quite alright," she says, picking up the monkshood and holding it up. "It would have been better to wear gloves, but sometimes one has to improvise."