"The result," I said, "is extremely pleasing, but if you will excuse a rather prosaic suggestion, it occurs to me that with the whole nation given over to wearing these delicate schemes of color, the accounts for washing must be pretty large. I should suppose they would swamp the national treasury if laundry bills are anything like what they used to be." This remark, which I thought a very sensible one, set Edith to laughing. "Doubtless we could not do much else if we washed our clothes," she said; "but you see we do not wash them." "Not wash them!--why not?" "Because we don't think it nice to wear clothes again after they have been so much soiled as to need washing." "Well, I won't say that I am surprised," I replied; "in fact, I think I am no longer capable of being surprised at anything; but perhaps you will kindly tell me what you do with a dress when it becomes soiled." "We throw it away--that is, it goes back to the mills to be made into something else." "Indeed! To my nineteenth-century intellect, throwing away clothing would seem even more expensive than washing it." "Oh, no, much less so. What do you suppose, now, this costume of mine cost?" "I don't know, I am sure. I never had a wife to pay dressmaker's bills for, but I should say certainly it cost a great deal of money." "Such costumes cost from ten to twenty cents," said Edith. "What do you suppose it is made of?" I took the edge of her mantle between my fingers. "I thought it was silk or fine linen," I replied, "but I see it is not. Doubtless it is some new fiber." "We have discovered many new fibers, but it is rather a question of process than material that I had in mind. This is not a textile fabric at all, but paper. That is the most common material for garments nowadays." "But--but," I exclaimed, "what if it should come on to rain on these paper clothes? Would they not melt, and at a little strain would they not part?" "A costume such as this," said Edith, "is not meant for stormy weather, and yet it would by no means melt in a rainstorm, however severe. For storm-garments we have a paper that is absolutely impervious to moisture on the outer surface. As to toughness, I think you would find it as hard to tear this paper as any ordinary cloth. The fabric is so strengthened with fiber as to hold together very stoutly." "But in winter, at least, when you need warmth, you must have to fall back on our old friend the sheep." "You mean garments made of sheep's hair? Oh, no, there is no modern use for them. Porous paper makes a garment quite as warm as woolen could, and vastly lighter than the clothes you had. Nothing but eider down could have been at once so warm and light as our winter coats of paper." "And cotton!--linen! Don't tell me that they have been given up, like wool?"