Author: Claire Willows (pseud.)

About: Subtitled: A cheerful end to a tearful diary. Flora Price, orphaned to the custody of her aunt, is imprisoned at the Villa Close in the South of France. This is a joint devoted to the ways of the lash--not to mention the paddle, the strap, the rod...

Good girl that she is, young Laura keeps a journal of her sufferings, which is one day read by a white knight, who rescues her from the lovely, lovely torments.

Additional: First published 1940 by Gargoyle Press, includes three illustrations from the original.

Excerpt:

“But you, Miss... Who are you?”

“I am an American, but a pensionnaire of...of the Villa Close, sir... But...I repeat...can I have absolute confidence in you?

“I give you my word of honor that no person shall know whatever you may wish to confide in me, Miss.”

“I am sure of it...but I am so confused now. I had prepared a diary—a sort of journal—and I should like to give it to you...but I wrote it without reflection and, really, I feel miserable when I think of a man reading it.”

“Miss, you can be—”

“I know, but I keep thinking now of all the things my indignation made me write. I've told all. Oh! How could I write such things down! I daresay, sir, there are passages in it...I don't know what to call it...sometimes improper...”

“I understand very well, Miss, but you have nothing to fear, and I shall be as silent as the tomb. Confide your journal to me. But I should also like to know in what way I could be useful. Would you like me to bring this matter to the attention of the American consul?”

“Oh! That wouldn't do any good. I would only be taken out of here and put somewhere else. Here is my diary, sir. Read it and take whatever decision seems to you the best, but do not forget that I am begging for help.”

Still leaning over the rail, Sistero searched the marvelous face of the blonde across the little grille.

“And if I get you out of here?” he stammered, trembling at his own audacity.

The marvelous beauty of the strange girl added to the mysterious quality of the conversation, and he divined that he was about to participate in an adventure of the greatest daring, involving a young lady from the best society.

A lively color spread over the young girl's cheeks. “How can you get me out of this place?” she asked. “I am so perplexed; I don't know how you could get into the Villa Close.”

“Oh, well, but...what about here?”

“Oh!” she said reprovingly, believing that he was jesting.

“I am serious, Miss. Tonight, could you get near this grille again?”

“I do not know...I shall try, but then what?”

“I shall come with my mechanic. We will pick some of the stones away, and you can pass through. Afterward, I shall lead you to a yacht belonging to one of my best friends, and tomorrow we will fly away to some quiet spot on the Italian Riviera. Is that clear?”

“I shall like to shake your hand,” she answered. “It's understood, then. But how sorry I am that I revealed my indignation and wrote everything down so—oh, how should I say it?—as frankly as I did. So much the worse, but perhaps you'll forgive me, won't you?”

“Oh! How can you doubt it? I had better go along now; someone may come. What hour would you prefer that we attempt your escape?”

“Midnight. Everybody is asleep here then.”

“Good. At midnight. Good-bye, Miss.”

He hastened away, after taking one fond look at the girl who was already beginning to trouble the depths of his soul. He clutched the mass of written sheets she had delivered to him, burning with impatience to dig into them for the solution of her mysterious predicament.