"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs. Wrexford, thoroughly alarmed.

"Don't be afraid," said Angela, quietly. "Our ways lie wide apart.
He is working for the biggest thing in life. His work IS his life. I
am nothing."

"But don't you think it would be indiscreet, dear, to have such a
man come here?"

"Why--indiscreet?"

"A man who has been in prison!" and Mrs. Wrexford shuddered at the
thought. She had seen and helped so many poor victims of the cruel
laws, and the memory of their drawn faces and evil eyes, and coarse
speech, flashed across her mind. She could not reconcile one coming
into her little home.

Angela answered her:

"Yes, he has been in prison, but the shame was for his persecutors--
not for him. Still, if you would rather I saw him somewhere else--"

"Oh no, my dear child. If you wish it--"

"I do. I just want to see him again, as he writes he does me. I want
to hear him speak again. I want to wish him 'God-speed' on his
journey." "Very, well, Angela," said the old lady. "As you wish."

A week afterwards O'Connell arrived in London. They met in Mrs.
Wrexford's little drawing-room in Mayfair.