Driven to Bay, Volume I by Florence Marryat

Godfrey Harland did not go home that night. He was contemplating the commission of a crime, and he felt little remorse upon the subject, but he dreaded the questioning of his wife as to where he had been and what he had been doing. Iris was a timid and long-suffering woman, but she had an unpleasant habit of looking one straight in the eyes whilst she waited for an answer, which made it most difficult to tell her a good lie, and stick to it. So the less he saw of her whilst he remained in England, he thought, the better, and he had already concocted an excuse for pretending to go into the country. He put up for the night at one of his low haunts, and despatched a dirty messenger for his clothes in the morning. As (punctual to his appointment) he walked up to the shipping office to meet his employer, he saw, already standing before it the handsome barouche with its thoroughbred bay steppers, that seemed like an earnest of his own future success. As he entered the office, which was crowded with clerks, messengers, seamen, and passengers, Mr Vansittart came forward and shook him warmly by the hand.

‘Punctual to a minute,' he said, smiling; ‘that's the proper way to do business. I see that you and me will get on first-rate together.'