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For their formal entertaining, the Kissingers have, after the White House, the most elegant suite in the capital—the State Department's Madison Room, which is furnished with American antiques. But vast embassy receptions and cocktail parties are not really Nancy's style. "I'd fall over backwards if she became the hostess with the mostes' " said one old friend. Nancy prefers small dinners with six to eight informed, articulate friends. She smokes a lot but drinks little. Though she does not fuss over gourmet food, she is a competent cook. Not that she spent much time at the stove in her single days. Through her work with the Rockefeller Brothers' Fund and from trips with the Governor, Nancy collected a large, far-flung circle of friends and acquaintances who always called her up when they were in town. However, men who dated her quickly learned that Kissinger was in the background. A couple of years ago, one friend urged Nancy either to marry him or start playing the field in order to find someone else to settle down with. She was apparently open to such counsel. Several months later the friend chided her: "When I told you to open your little black book, I didn't know it was the whole New York City phone book." Nancy will not give up her career—yet—for Henry, but she has already had to surrender her cherished privacy. From now on, what she says and how she looks will be intensely scrutinized. The unblinking public gaze is not likely to please such a reserved woman. And as the honeymoon drew to an end, she seemed to be growing reluctantly aware of what her metamorphosis from Rockefeller staffer to Mrs. Kissinger will mean. Looking cool and chic in a bougainvillaea-pink pantsuit, Nancy waited on the terrace for Henry to finish taping a TV interview last week. Shading her eyes and looking out over the bay, she referred to the pressures of constant publicity, then asked doubtfully, "Don't you think it will be over after this?"