She had another vision, a vision of a Minor Canon, whom she had loved with the pure worship of her youth, a love of which somehow she was now ashamed.

Ashamed, though it had then seemed to her so spiritual.

Her dead parents had desired the marriage, but neither she nor they had the power to bring it about.
Edith had never heard of the Minor Canon.

She had drawn a bow at a venture.
"My dear," she said, "why not?
It's only the very elect lovers who can say to each other, 'I never loved any one but you.'" "At any rate," said Anne, "I never loved any one else well enough to marry him." For, in her fancy, the Minor Canon, being withdrawn in time, had ceased to occupy space; he had become that which he was for her girlhood, a disembodied dream.

She could not have explained why she was so ashamed of him.