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I thought of them as dollars: the old, hard millions which Mrs. Ziegeld, by her magical artistry, conerted into home-beauty for her hus>and's esthetic enjoyment, and the ewer dollars, which now she must arn again, but which she spends on he graceful art of living.
She said, on a sigh: "I do miss ay gardens and conservatories. On ree days, I putter around among ny flowers. I would die without lowers. Such a small back-yard ;arden! Now I must buy many of hem."
Bowls of white roses daily bestow ler respects before Mr. Ziegfeld's •ictures and beside her parents' hotographs.
Let us make formal entrance to he house, of white stucco and gray ock, with its quaint turret effects nd odd angles. Tall trees and hedges surround it. From andow-boxes plants give greeting. It looks like a homy ouse.
A Filipino boy opens the door. Two dogs, Ziegy and lot-Cha, yelp their welcome. Standing in the rotunda, lowly we sip in the exquisite beauty of it. Only Billie !urke, with her delicately skillful touch, could create such
fragile charm. The average woman, given that entrance,
ould crowd it with hunks of solemn statuary.
Because it is small, yet so different — high and circular — liss Burke's flawless taste has embowered it with cool 'hite and green. Over the tile floor there is a pale-blue and-hooked rug. Along the walls are trailing ivy and frail erns. On a stand of white fretwork, plants surround a larble figure.
A white stairway curves upward. The light step is that of
young girl. That breathless, eager quality is Miss Burke's lost delightful asset. Trim in her green sports frock, and
wearing the charm bracelet which has been "growing" sixteen years, she greets us and leads the way.
At the arched entrance to the dining room we gasp in delight. Adrian designed it to express the Burke ideals of home beauty. The walls are turquoise. Apple-green curtains with pleated folds frame the French door and the windows.
Silver on buffets and stands — coffee and tea sets and tureens and candelabra — reflect their gleams in two mirrored walls. A cabinet holds a collection of Dresden figurines. Across the center of the room the table stands, the top of veined green marble.
We step down into the drawing-room. Large windows, bordered by gold taffeta curtains, make oblongs of light in the pale-yellow walls. The rug is rose.
The dominant notes of the room are the fireplace made of marble slabs, with walnut mantel on which elephants guard a photograph of Mr. Ziegfeld, the grand piano of inlaid rosewood which is almost smothered with flowers, and