The constable stands in the foyer of the Banks household at 17 Cherry Tree Lane, a look of regret spread across his visage. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Banks," he says, wringing his gloves in his hands, "We couldn't find him."

Mrs. Banks doesn't move. She doesn't blink. Fear has gripped her, paralyzed her. The constable speaks again, "Mrs. Banks…" he tries, "…did you hear what I said?" He steps toward her, attempting to place an unsheathed hand upon her shoulder in an act of consolation. Before he can do so, Mrs. Banks – still not looking at the constable—raises one hand to him and says softly, "I heard you, Constable." Tears begin welling in her eyes. "I just don't believe you."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have done everything in our power to locate him. I know how difficult this is for you to hear, but the world is a cruel, cold place. It could've happened to any one of us…" The constable trails off, seeing that Winifred Banks has not been listening. He sighs, genuinely sorry for Mrs. Banks. "But I'd be more than obliged to stay with you for a while if you'd like."

At once, Mrs. Banks stiffens up and looks the constable in the eyes fiercely. Shaking her head, she responds with, "No. No, I assure you that will not be necessary. Thank you, Constable." Any sign suggesting she is in a state of emotional ruin vanishes into the London smog. "I'll be fine."

The constable is amazed at the newfound strength of Winifred Banks' resolve, though a bit bewildered at the same time. Only moments ago she was devastated by his news—or so it seemed. The constable had never known Mrs. Banks to be a terribly independent woman, though he had seen her out and about, fighting militantly along with the suffragettes. He always viewed her as a reserved and somewhat co-dependent sort of woman. According to his prognosis, she ought to be wrought with grief and overwhelmed with sorrow. Yet here she was, strong and unwavering in the face of tragedy. He could not understand it.

With the last words of her utterance, the constable turns around and makes his way toward the door. As he turns the knob to leave, he hears a familiar tune sung by a familiar voice permeate the air. A smile slowly spreads across his face, reaching from ear to ear. He turns on his heels and locks eyes with an equally excited Winifred Banks, who also smiles widely. In unison, the gasp the name on both of their lips, "George!"