"Owing to the present abnormal state of things, my dear," I said, "our
office is now almost entirely staffed by women. In many ways this is
an improvement. Their refining influence upon the dress and deportment
of the few remaining male members of the staff is distinctly
noticeable. But there are, I regret to say, certain drawbacks.
Admittedly our superiors in many respects, in others they are not,
I am afraid, equal to the situation. Take, for instance, matters of
detail where you--I mean they--should excel. I asked Miss Philpott to
write a letter--"

"Did you post that letter for me this morning?" said Clara. "If Mrs.
Roberts doesn't get it she won't know where to meet me to-morrow."

It is a woman's privilege to wander from the point at issue. I
told Clara somewhat shortly that I had posted the letter, although
naturally I did not remember doing so. A man who has hundreds of petty
details to deal with every day, as I have, develops an automatic
memory--a subconscious mechanism which never fails him.

I explained this to Clara. "Not once in five thousand times would it
allow me to pass the pillar-box with an unposted letter in my pocket.
Perhaps it is the vivid red--"

"And perhaps your vivid imagination," said my wife. "Well, I am glad
you posted the letter, for Mrs. Roberts, as you know, never received
the one you posted ten days ago."

"I took that matter up very firmly with the local postmaster," I said.
"He explained to me that letters are now almost entirely sorted and
delivered by women, and he was afraid mistakes sometimes happened.