I found myself quite the hero of the party that evening.

Every one was there.

I had an affecting reconciliation with Whipcord, and forgot all about Flanagan's desertion and Daly's indifference in my hour of tribulation; I discoursed condescendingly with the Field-Marshal about his hopeless attachment, and promised to go for a row up the river one Saturday with the twins.
And all the time of supper I was mentally calculating the cost of Doubleday's entertainment, and wondering whether I could venture to give a party myself! In fact, I was so much taken up with my own good fortune and my new rise in life, that I could think of nothing else.

I forgot my former warnings and humiliations.

I forgot that even with twelve shillings a week I had barely enough to clothe me respectably; I forgot that every one of these fellows was in the habit of laughing at me behind my back, and I forgot all my good resolutions to live steadily till Jack came back.
And I forgot all about poor Jack--( now, so the letters had told me), convalescent and slowly recovering health, but still lying lonely and weary in the Packworth Hospital.