It might, of course, be interpreted quite simply as merely momentarily irritation at the idiotic interruption.
“You see,” began Anna in laborious explanation, “he pretends that there’s a real Miss Fyles-Smith and a pretence one, and the pretence one is called ‘play Miss Fyles-Smith,’ and whenever he gets silly he wants people to come down his nose, and....”
Then there was a laugh in the hall, discreetly echoed by Rendall the butler.
“Hallo! That’s Rory,” said Concha, and ran out into the hall.
Teresa felt herself stiffening into an attitude of hostile criticism.
“Here he is!”
First entry of the jeune premier in a musical play:
“Well, guuurls, here we are again,” while the Beauty Chorus crowds round him and he chucks the prettiest one under the chin. Then—bang! squeak! pop! goes the orchestra and, running right up to the footlights, the smirking chorus massed behind him, he begins half singing, half speaking:
When I came back from sea