Perhaps she felt that she did not pray for him as she prayed for
others.

She left the AEolian harp in the window, as a luxury if she should
wake, and coiled herself up among lace pillows and eider blemos; and
the hound coiled himself up on the gravel-walk, after a solemn
vesper-ceremony of three turns round in his own length, looking
vainly for a 'soft stone.' The finest of us are animals after all,
and live by eating and sleeping: and, taken as animals, not so
badly off either--unless we happen to be Dorsetshire labourers--or
Spitalfields weavers--or colliery children--or marching soldiers--
or, I am afraid, one half of English souls this day.

And Argemone dreamed;--that she was a fox, flying for her life
through a churchyard--and Lancelot was a hound, yelling and leaping,
in a red coat and white buckskins, close upon her--and she felt his
hot breath, and saw his white teeth glare. . . . And then her
father was there: and he was an Italian boy, and played the organ--
and Lancelot was a dancing dog, and stood up and danced to the tune
of 'C'est l'amour, l'amour, l'amour,' pitifully enough, in his red
coat--and she stood up and danced too; but she found her fox-fur
dress insufficient, and begged hard for a paper frill--which was
denied her: whereat she cried bitterly and woke; and saw the Night
peeping in with her bright diamond eyes, and blushed, and hid her
beautiful face in the pillows, and fell asleep again.

What the little imp, who managed this puppet-show on Argemone's
brain-stage, may have intended to symbolise thereby, and whence he
stole his actors and stage-properties, and whether he got up the
interlude for his own private fun, or for that of a choir of brother