Less than a fortnight later she caught him doing worse.  She had ceased to speak to him of his chauffeurdom because it seemed to cause him painful embarrassment. (It did, and should have!) There had been a big theater party, important enough to get itself detailed in the valuable columns which the papers devote to such matters, and afterward supper at the most expensive uptown restaurant, Miss Roberta Holland being one of the listed guests.  As she took her place at the table, she caught a glimpse of an unmistakable figure disappearing through the waiter’s exit.  And Julien Tenney, who had risen from his little supper party of four (stag) hastily but just too late, on catching sight of her, saw that he was recognized.  Flight, instant and permanent, had been his original intent.  Now it would not do.  Bolder measures must be devised.  He appealed to the head-waiter to help him carry out a joke, and that functionary, developing a sense of humor under the stimulus of a twenty-dollar bill, procured him on the spot an ill-fitting coat and a black string tie, and gave him certain simple directions.  When the patroness of Art next observed the object of her patronage, he was performing the humble but useful duties of an omnibus.

Miss Holland suddenly lost a perfectly good and hitherto reliable appetite.

Nor was she the only member of the supper party to develop symptoms of shock.  The gilded and stalwart youth on her left, following her glance, stared at the amateur servitor with protruding eyes, ceased to eat or drink, and fell into a state of semi-coma, muttering at intervals an expressive monosyllable.

“Why not swear out loud, Caspar?” asked Bobbie presently.  “It’ll do you less harm.”

“D’you see that chap over yonder?  The big, fine-looking one fixing the forks?”

“Yes,” said Bobbie faintly.

“Well, that’s—­No, by thunder, it can’t be!—­Yes, by the red-hot hinges, it is!”

“Do you think you know him?”

“Know him!  I know him?  He bunked in with me for two weeks at Grandpre.  He was captain of a machine-gun outfit sent down to help us clean out that little wasp’s nest.  His name’s Tenney, and if ever there was a hellion in a fight!  And see—­what he’s come to!  My God!”

“Well, don’t cry about it,” advised the girl, serenely, though it was hard for her to keep her voice steady.  “There’s nothing to do about it, is there?”

“Isn’t there!” retorted the youth, rising purposefully.  “I’m going to get him and find him a job that’s fit for him if I have to take him into partnership.  Of all the dash-blanked-dod-blizzened—­”

“Caspar!  What are you going to do?  Don’t.  You’ll embarrass him frightfully.”

But he was already heading off his prey at the exit.  Bobbie saw her painter’s face flame into welcome, then stiffen into dismay.  The pair vanished beyond the watcher’s ken.  On his return the gilded youth behaved strangely.  From time to time he shook his head.  From time to time he chuckled.  And, while Bobbie was talking to her other neighbor, he shot curious and amused glances at her.  He told her nothing.  But his interest in his supper returned.  Bobbie’s didn’t.