She adjusted her bonnet, took the letter she was to post and left the house. As she was passing along the parlour window, she caught a glimpse of Mary, already sitting at the piano, her face slightly clouded after their heated discussion. A few hours of separation will do us good, she thought. She already realised that Mary really didn´t approve of Jane´s decision and didn´t share her own delight over this marriage, she felt even offended for the sake of their brother.
She sighed. Well, they both liked Jane from the first moment when she appeared in the kitchen door, supported by their brother, wet and tired to death. Later, they started to respect her for her personal qualities, her moral integrity, her accomplishments and when Rosamond Oliver and Mr. Granby announced their betrothal, they both wanted Jane to become St. John´s wife.
As she was standing at the wicket gate, she turned and looked at the Moorhouse. The house was old, covered by moss and weather-worn, but it has something so cosy, so warm, so attractive for her and Mary as well. It was their home and it should be so.
She remembered well her own delight and Mary´s satisfaction, when they first observed the attention St. John pays to Jane´s words and actions and the amount of time they were spending together by learning Hindoustani, on his own request. She remembered also the tiny bit of fear with which she watched them in that spring evening, talking in the garden, as she saw the influence her brother has over her cousin and friend.
She quickly understood how wrong and selfish their wish was. They both thought, Mary and herself, that this marriage would keep St. John in England and Jane in their company, but as she learned from Jane, her brother asked her hand for one single reason - to get a companion for his missionary work in India. Oh yes, Jane would make a perfect one, loving, caring, pious, modest, accomplished, capable, ... Her mind was strong, but her body was literally weak: her three days long trip showed it clearly. She would not survive in the terrible climat of India for long. This held no importance for St. John, he didn´t care for Jane, she didn´t interest him personally, he wanted just a co-worker, a companion, he wanted to marry Jane for work, not for love.
She could not agree with her brother in this point. She was always the one of the Rivers sisters who dared to oppose to their calm, cold brother. Cold, it is the right word, cold and hard like an iceberg, leaving no life behind. Still, she was her brother, she loved him, but he wasn´t right.
She reached the road, the same road Jane took early in the morning only a week ago. Jane left to find what she needed, despite the iron grip of St. John on her soul, and she finally found it, that was clear from each phrase in her letter. Strange as it may seem, considering what she haslearned about the man she run from a year ago and the state she has found him now, the letter was full of happiness .
She shook her head. No, it could never be, anyone must admit that St. John had no love for Jane and Jane had no love for St. John. She said it herself. Respect, sort of admiration perhaps, but not love.
Diane Rivers was a very realistic person, she had always both feet on the ground, but despite it and despite all what she saw and heard in the rich families she used to work for, she still thought that there should be no marriage without love.