"Will you please call me Cordelia?" she said eagerly.
"No-o-o, it's not exactly my name, but I would love to be called Cordelia. It's such a perfectly elegant name."
"Anne Shirley," reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, "but, oh, please do call me Cordelia. It can't matter much to you what you call me if I'm only going to be here a little while, can it?
"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it," explained Anne, "only I like Cordelia better.
Particularly sculpturesque and plastic, so to say, and richly colored is that passage where you feel Cordelia's approach, where woman, das ewig Weibliche, enters into conflict with fate.
"You mean...what has Cordelia to do with it?" Levin asked timidly, forgetting that the fantasia was supposed to represent King Lear.
"Cordelia comes in...see here!" said Pestsov, tapping his finger on the satiny surface of the program he held in his hand and passing it to Levin.
In her arms she held a small, sleeping, black-curled creature, who for two happy years had been known to the world of Avonlea as "Small Anne Cordelia." Avonlea folks knew why Diana had called her Anne, of course, but Avonlea folks were puzzled by the Cordelia.
"Is it settled yet where you are going to live?" asked Diana, cuddling Small Anne Cordelia with the inimitable gesture of motherhood which always sent through Anne's heart, filled with sweet, unuttered dreams and hopes, a thrill that was half pure pleasure and half a strange, ethereal pain.
She should have tried to imagine her name was
Cordelia. It might have helped her a great deal.
The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of
Cordelia were mine also.
We have Laura and Beatrice, Antigone and
Cordelia, but we have no heroic man.