"What you had better do--and the Servants' Hall thinks the same," I
said--"is fake a sprained ankle on the eve of the match."
He looked at me in an odd sort of way.
"You suggest that, when Miss Dalgleish is trusting me, relying on me,
looking forward with eager, girlish enthusiasm to seeing me help her
village on to victory, I should let her down with a thud?"