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This Donna Noble, the Doctor had decided, was a harpy; vile-tempered, hot-headed, and decidedly intemperate.  Not to mention the sheer cheek of the girl!   The gall not only to criticise his sartorial sense but to mock his indisputably elegant way with words, and completely discount the wisdom he had to share about the universe.

... He could see why he liked her.  Will like her, future tense. 

Enough, apparently, to take her up on her challenge that she was capable of dressing him in something 'that didn't look like he'd got dressed in the dark.'  Unforgivable, that soft spot of his, really.  But, if Miss Noble wishes to make a point, she is more than welcome to.  The Doctor will indulge her, show her how wrong she is, and then return to wearing what he always wears.

With an unnecessarily dramatic flare, he sweeps into the TARDIS, not bothering to make sure she's following, and takes his place at the console before looking up at her expectantly.   He has no particular expectation that she'll be impressed by the TARDIS' interior dimensions, if she's already familiar with its future, but he can't help a  smug little stroke to the edge of the console nonetheless.  'So, my girl!  Where, precisely, are you carting me off to for the edification and improvement of my fashion sense?  Not some Camden Town bargain bin, I should hope.'