She didn’t stop dancing when the music stopped. She didn’t stop dancing when the lights went out or when the doors were locked behind the last of the staff.
Everything was different now, and had been for a long time: he music, the dancing… even the clothes were different.
Of course, he continued to come with other girls for years after her; he married, grew old, died. She couldn’t touch him, couldn’t touch anyone. She couldn’t tell people what he’d done, where to look, where to dig. Which wasn’t so bad: it would be a shame to ruin those rosebushes.