Elizabeth stands on the roof of the hospital. Tower Bridge looms over her shoulder, totally improbably close to her. “Not thinking of jumping?” her father asks, teasingly, gingerly stepping out onto the patio. Elizabeth smiles ruefully and explains that the doctors in Chicago often take refuge on the roof when things go awry, and it’s a habit she can’t break. “Glad everything there isn’t perfect,” he sniffs. “I was beginning to develop an inferiority complex.” Elizabeth bows her head a tad. Her father asks if she’s homesick; she shrugs helplessly, lost. “Yes, you do,” he says. “What?” she asks. “Have a home,” he reassures her. “You can’t bring yourself to sell it, I understand.” Elizabeth tries to change the subject, but her father winds it back to a really long-winded story about how Elizabeth always had a rebellious streak, and he realized that was true when she got in trouble at school for climbing trees. I don’t know, I didn’t write it. Tower Bridge actually just got up and left. “You were an unbridled spirit from the womb,” he grins lovingly. Elizabeth shakes her head, confused. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. Her father reaches for her, and they hug as Ode to Go Back Where You Came From swells in the background.

Cut to Elizabeth speed-walking down a train platform with Ella in a stroller. A cute gent, whom forum-dwellers have identified as Crispin Bonham-Carter (Mr. Bingley in PBS’s Pride and Prejudice; cousin of Helena), flashes her a blinding smile and helps her into the train car. He’s the only friendly Brit they’ve shown this entire hour. “Off for holiday?” he asks pleasantly. “No,” Elizabeth replies slowly. “We’re going home.” He grins at her adorably again and leaves her to tend to Ella, who’s perched in a window seat staring at the world around her. Ella, unfortunately, has uglified significantly since last we saw her. She’s got a mop of white-blond hair and chubby cheeks, which would be fine if her face didn’t look so… well, constipated. I see she’s inherited the Greene Family Angst.