Matilda's just been standing there dumbfounded, staring at The Wizard, and then at Garrot, because he's loud and it's hard not to stare at him whenever he's existing in the near vicinity. And then she's staring back at The Wizard, because Garrot's not loud, and that's even more freakish than waking up somewhere other than your bed with three other people and The Wizard. She shifts carefully, worried about grass stains on her-- oh, those are awfully cute, though nothing like the frilly nightgown she'd worn to bed. She's quiet, just a moment, then offers the only thing she can think of right now--

"He likes his with sugar."