[ She slants a wry glance his way at the secretary comment. For all that she does keep her private life private, she doesn't pull her punches elsewhere — literally and figuratively. If anyone cares to put two and two together, the pieces are laid out, but far be it from her to make it plain. ]

I'm not one to sit still, [ she interjects lightly. And then he carries on and she's about to tell him she's grateful for the offer, would be glad for his help in all that stuff he'd mentioned she's caught up in, and then he mentions dancing. And just like how tidbits of her life are rare, so too are her laughs — but this startles one out of her, no less genuine for its softness. ] Oh, no. No, I wouldn't know how to dance to that noise you call music.

[ She'd old fashioned that way. But God, does she miss dancing. She hadn't done it in years out of mourning, did half a song on the dance floor with a brilliant scientist she'd been interviewing, and then ended up in this world where her present was nothing more than ancient history. ]

And I doubt anyone here knows how to do the foxtrot. More's the pity.