Clara sat opposite to him with her exasperating charts and her blue book.

The Doctor glanced at her and his eyes remained fixed in astonishment upon the front of her skirt.
"My dear Clara," he cried, "you have torn your skirt!" His daughter laughed and smoothed out her frock.

To his horror he saw the red plush of the chair where the dress ought to have been.

"It is all torn!" he cried.

"What have you done ?" "My dear papa!" said she, "what do you know about the mysteries of ladies' dress?
This is a divided skirt." Then he saw that it was indeed so arranged, and that his daughter was clad in a sort of loose, extremely long knickerbockers.
"It will be so convenient for my sea-boots," she explained.
Her father shook his head sadly.